


For Such a Time As This

by enigmaticblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-08
Updated: 2010-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught between the forces of Heaven and Hell, Dean, Sam, and Castiel attempt to find some means of stopping Lucifer, while coming to terms with their own relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Esther 4:14, where Mordecai says to Esther, "For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place and you and your father's house will perish. And who knows whether you have not attained royalty for such a time as this?"

Castiel watched Dean sleep from the chair next to the hospital bed, his pale face nearly matching the color of the white sheets. Dean had roused once since they had arrived; Castiel had used the last of his strength to transport the two of them from the convent to the nearest emergency room. Dean had been wide-eyed and raving, forcing the doctors to sedate him in order to treat his broken ribs and stitch up the gash in his side.

While Castiel looked much the worse for wear, he had managed to convince the doctors and nurses that he was fine, that the blood smearing his coat was Dean's, and that he belonged by Dean's side. "Are you family?" one doctor had asked, while gripping the clipboard with its admittance forms.

"Yes," Castiel had replied, because there was no other choice. Dean needed treatment, and Sam had told him to take Dean and go. Castiel hadn't the strength to transport both Winchesters, and Dean appeared badly injured, while Sam could tend to his own scrapes and bruises. It had been clear that of the two men, Dean was the target.

"Go!" Sam had shouted, his eyes wide and full of fear. "Take care of him, Cas!"

And because it had been Dean who had convinced him to turn his entire world upside down, Dean who had—oddly enough—taught him why his Father loved humanity so much, Castiel had mustered his last reserves of strength and flown with Dean in his arms.

Castiel still wasn't certain how he had escaped the wrath of the archangels. One minute they had been there, tearing into him, and the next they had been gone. He'd thought he'd heard a distant, thundering order, the words somehow muffled and unintelligible to him, but looking back, Castiel thought that he must have imagined it. Since that moment, there had been complete silence in his head; Castiel could hear neither the voices of the host, nor the thoughts of Jimmy Novak.

But none of that mattered; the only thing that mattered was that he'd been in time to save Dean and Sam.

Sam was supposed to meet them at the hospital; where was he? Dean would ask after him, and Castiel would have to confess that he didn't know where Sam was, that he hadn't saved the younger Winchester, too.

A throat cleared behind him, and Castiel started, ashamed that he had not heard the nurse approaching. He turned slowly to see a dark haired woman in purple scrubs. "Are you aware that it's after visiting hours?"

"I was not," he replied carefully. It wasn't a lie; he hadn't even asked about visiting hours. And he was supposed to be inconspicuous, unnoticeable. At least one other nurse had entered the room earlier and had seemed not to see him. He must be weaker than he’d realized.

"And if I asked you to leave, would you?"

Castiel couldn't quite read her expression. Dean was an open book to him, but other humans took more effort, and he simply didn't have it in him at the moment. If he had to guess, however, he would say she seemed bemused and resigned in equal measure, and he gave her question the consideration due her position. "I'm sorry, but I cannot."

"Of course not," she muttered. "Why would it be that easy?"

Castiel wasn't sure what to say in response to that, and so he said nothing, watching in silence as she picked up Dean's chart to skim the contents. He could have recited Dean's injuries from memory, but the nurse was pointedly not looking at him, and so he focused on her name tag. Her name was Molly Cortez, and as she glanced over at him, almost involuntarily, Castiel met her eyes fully for the first time. "Oh."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't 'oh' me," she snapped. "Whatever you're thinking, it's not true."

"You have the gift of—"

"It's not a gift; it's a fucking curse," she hissed, interrupting him, her anger quick and hot. Castiel watched as she visibly pulled herself together. "Look, I know what you are, okay? And if you're here, there's probably a damn good reason for it. Since no one warned me about you, chances are I'm the only one who noticed you."

"Yes," he confirmed when she paused. "Dean Winchester is my charge."

"And at least for tonight, he's mine, too, so we might as well make the best of it."

Castiel decided that it wouldn't be polite to point out that he wasn't the one who was having trouble with the situation. "Of course."

"Good." She turned her attention back to Dean, and Castiel watched her quick, practiced movements, admiring her ability to heal and to soothe. Molly Cortez performed the necessary tests without Dean stirring, not until the very end, when she brushed her hand across his forehead.

Dean woke suddenly, and with the same panic that had caused the doctors to sedate him earlier. "Sam!"

"It's me, Cas," Castiel said quickly, stumbling over his own name, choosing the name that Dean used for him. He did not believe that he was Castiel any longer. "Dean."

"Help me," the nurse said grimly, attempting to keep Dean still. "Otherwise, he's going to end up hurting himself."

Seizing Dean’s shoulders, Castiel held him tightly, feeling the trembling in his borrowed muscles. He suspected that he was tied to this body now, the way that Jimmy Novak had been tied to him, their existence inextricably intertwined.

Only now Jimmy was gone, and it wasn’t fair, he realized. It never had been.

“Dean, please, you must lie still.”

Some sense entered Dean’s eyes. “Cas?”

“That’s right.”

“Where’s Sam?”

That was the question he’d been dreading, but Castiel forced himself to keep his tone light—at least insofar as that was possible, given that an angel’s natural inclination was to solemnity. “He’s going to meet us here.”

The nurse popped a thermometer into Dean’s mouth when he opened it to ask another question, and Castiel admired her ability to shut the man up. “Don’t even think about spitting that out,” she warned Dean in a voice that indicated she was to be obeyed. Molly then turned her rather formidable gaze to Castiel. “You. Tell him what he wants to know so he can calm down and go to sleep.”

Castiel hesitated. It was a sound order, but these were not things one spoke of in front of an outsider, even if that outsider had one of the strongest gifts of discernment he’d ever seen.

Molly rolled her eyes and removed the thermometer when it beeped. “You have a fever,” she told Dean sternly. “Which probably means an infection in that gash on your side.”

“Great.” Dean’s face was still pale and sweat-slicked, his pupils huge and black from the pain medications they had given him.

They were not at their best, Castiel thought, and if attacked here and now, they would not be able to withstand. It was an unpleasant thought.

The nurse was adjusting one of the sensors on Dean’s chest when she caught sight of his tattoo. She froze, and Castiel watched as she looked at Dean’s face, then the tattoo, and then at Castiel. He heard her swallow hard, then say in a distant tone, “I’m going to get the doctor. I’ll be right back.”

Dean waited until she was gone to ask again. “What happened, Cas?”

“The archangels were—unexpectedly called away before…” He stopped, uncertain of how to complete that thought. He wasn’t sure what they would have done had they not been pulled up short.

“Before they killed you?” Dean supplied.

“Yes, I suppose.” Angels could be killed, of course. Castiel had lost a number of his brothers and sisters to those demons who had once been part of the heavenly host. He simply wasn’t certain that he would have been killed.

There were worse punishments than the peace that came with death, with non-existence.

“And Sam?” Dean pressed.

Castiel gave himself a mental shake. “His injuries were minor; yours were not. I helped you both get free of the convent, and he told me to take you away, to get help. I thought it was for the best.”

“The best?” Dean didn’t look at all pleased. “Sam could be dead by now. The whole world is going to be hunting him!”

Castiel realized that Dean had misunderstood what he’d said earlier, before he’d been persuaded to take this course of action. “No, Dean. Sam has fulfilled his destiny. No one will seek his death unless he gets in the way of another target. We are the ones who will be hunted, by Heaven and Hell, to the ends of the earth.”

Dean’s eyes widened as the information sank in, and Castiel belatedly realized that he probably should have been gentler with the truth. He opened his mouth to say something else, perhaps to lie and insist that all would be well, when the nurse returned with a doctor in tow.

Castiel sank back into his chair, trying to focus on being invisible as the doctor busied himself around Dean’s bed. Although the doctor did not so much as glance his way, the nurse met his eyes, her expression inscrutable. So unlike Dean, whom Castiel could read almost without thought.

Perhaps, Castiel thought, he would fade into his human vessel until there was no longer anything angelic about him. Perhaps this was only the beginning of his loss.

And it was only the knowledge that Dean needed him that kept Castiel from wishing for death in earnest.

~~~~~

Sam’s plan had originally included going to the hospital to check on Dean, but he thought better of it not five miles down the road. It was _his_ fault that Lucifer was loose, _his_ fault that Dean was in the hospital.

_His fault_. The litany went through his head until he couldn’t think anything else, anything other than, _I have to fix this_.

The worst part was that Sam had no idea how he was supposed to fix it, but he knew that it wasn’t going to happen sitting in a hospital room—and Dean had a freaking angel of the Lord to protect him. Dean would be fine.

A little voice in the back of his head reminded him that he’d gotten into this mess by trying to do things on his own, but Sam pushed it back. He could meet up with Dean later, when he had some idea of how to deal with this mess.

Sam took Ruby’s car, because she didn’t need it anymore, and because he’d managed to snag the keys from her pocket.

He felt a surge of grief and relentlessly pushed it down. He wasn’t sorry that she was dead, but he _was_ sorry that she hadn’t been what she claimed. He’d believed her, had thought that she was an ally, even a friend.

Sam had gone about ten miles in the opposite direction of the hospital before he stopped cold, unable to take not knowing how Dean was doing, and without any real way to contact him or Cas. He pulled over to the side of the road. When no one answered Dean’s phone, he called Bobby.

“Hello?” Bobby’s voice betrayed how tense he was, and Sam belatedly remembered that Bobby had threatened him with a shotgun.

“Uh, Bobby, it’s Sam.”

“Sam? Where the hell are you? Have you seen your brother?”

“I’m still in Maryland.”

“And what the hell are you doin’ there?”

“Have you heard from Dean?” Sam asked.

Bobby let out a strangled sound. “Your _brother_ disappeared from here two days ago. One minute, we were having a conversation, and the next he was gone.”

Sam had no idea what had happened. It wasn’t like he and Dean had had any time to talk about it. “Dean showed up where I was in Maryland.” Sam hesitated, not wanting to admit what he’d done, but there didn’t seem to be any choice. “Lucifer’s out, Bobby.”

“And how did that happen?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

“I killed Lilith,” Sam admitted hoarsely. “She was the final seal.”

“And where’s your brother now?”

“The hospital. I think. He got hurt pretty bad. Cas showed up and got him out of there.”

“And why aren’t you there with him?”

Sam was silent for a moment. “This is my fault, Bobby.”

“Don’t be an idjit, Sam. You went off on your own, and that’s how we got into this mess. So, either get your ass back here, or go find your brother.”

Sam didn’t particularly want to listen to Bobby, but the old hunter had a point. “I’ll call the hospitals, try to locate Dean,” Sam finally said.

“Do _not_ be a moron about this,” Bobby snapped. “For once in your life, do what you’re told.”

“I promise, Bobby. I’ll find Dean, and then I’ll either pick him up, or I’ll find you.”

“Good. And hurry. If we’re going to face the apocalypse, we’re gonna need time to reconnoiter.”

Sam let out a little laugh. “Yeah.” He hung up and looked down the road. He had no idea what “nearest hospital” meant to an angel, but it looked like he was going to find out.

~~~~~

Molly cursed to herself as she walked down the hallway, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking a bit on the gray tiles. As soon as she’d seen the angel sitting by Dean Winchester’s bedside, she had known that trouble was on the way. Angels, demons—Molly figured they were _all_ trouble. She had wanted to be done with supernatural creatures; she just wanted to live a normal life. That’s all.

So, her plan had been to ignore the angel as much as possible, tend to Mr. Winchester when she had to, and then go home and enjoy her much-deserved weekend. By the time she returned to work after her two scheduled days off, Mr. Winchester and his guardian angel would be gone. Simple.

Except that half the day shift had the fucking flu, and Molly had to work a double shift, possibly a triple, if the night shift was in the same position. She was getting close to the end of her double, and she still hadn’t heard.

“This sucks,” she muttered. “The next time I get a full weekend, it’ll be because I’m sick with the same fucking flu, because I didn’t get any _fucking_ sleep.”

Molly stopped by the nurses’ station to look at a chart, and glanced up to see two men heading down the hall, glancing into each room. She might not have thought anything of it, just assumed they were looking for someone they knew and didn’t remember the room number, but she knew what they were.

She had never wanted to see a demon again, and now she had two doing a room-by-room search.

Molly grabbed a chart blindly and headed towards Dean Winchester’s room. She paused as she went by the chapel, and an idea struck her. She walked briskly back to the nurses’ station with its water cooler and grabbed one of the paper cups provided. Heading back the way she’d just come, she cast a surreptitious look over her shoulder and spotted the two demons still making their way down the hall.

She dipped the cup into the holy water font at the front of the hospital chapel, then hurried to her goal. Molly slipped inside the room, shutting the door behind her. “It looks like you two have a pair of demons on your tail.”

“Demons?” Mr. Winchester was actually sitting up in bed, his color much improved. “How the hell would you know about demons?”

Molly glared at the angel. “You didn’t tell him?”

“What was I supposed to tell him?” Cas asked—and Molly was fairly certain that wasn’t his real name. It didn’t sound terribly angelic.

Molly raised her eyes to heaven and said a brief prayer for patience. “I see true forms.”

“You’re some kind of psychic?” Molly could hear the skepticism in Mr. Winchester’s voice.

“No, she has the gift of discernment.” Cas was frowning at her. “What is going on?”

“Demons, two of them, doing a room check.” Molly raised her eyebrows. “Is it just a coincidence that they’re here, or are they looking for one of you? Or both of you?”

“Both of us.” Cas rose. “What do you have?”

“Holy water. I thought it might help.”

“Get him out of here. I’ll take care of the demons.”

“Whoa now,” Mr. Winchester said. “I don’t know who she is, Cas. I’m not—”

The angel turned his piercing eyes on her patient. “Trust me.”

“I do, but—”

“I don’t,” Molly inserted bluntly. “Look, I wanted to give you guys a heads-up, but I can’t just spirit a patient out of the hospital before discharge. I could lose my job for that.”

“Please. I cannot protect him without your help.”

Molly stared at him, then looked at Mr. Winchester, who appeared confused, probably because of the cocktail of meds he was on. “Fuck.” She shoved the holy water at the angel. “Go. I’ll take care of it.”

“Wait, Cas!” Mr. Winchester called, but the angel was already gone.

Molly met his eyes. “I don’t like this anymore than you do, Mr. Winchester, but—”

“It’s Dean,” he said roughly. “Where are my clothes? I can take care of everything else.”

His clothes, if Molly remembered correctly, were in a cabinet in the corner of his room, and they were filthy with blood and grime. “These clothes?”

“Don’t knock them. They’re what I’ve got.”

Molly shrugged and handed him the clothing, knowing that there wasn’t time enough to find him a set of clean scrubs. Dean struggled with the t-shirt, finally giving up and just pulling on the button down.

She checked the hall before they left, and when she couldn’t see the angel or the demons, she motioned to Dean to follow her. They made it to the elevator without incident, and when Molly felt she could finally relax, she asked, “So, where’s your car?”

~~~~~

Dean hadn’t even thought about the lack of transportation until the nurse asked him where his car was. He drove _everywhere_, so the sudden reminder that the Impala was still in South Dakota, parked in front of Bobby’s place, was very unwelcome.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t have a car here.”

Molly looked as pissed off as he felt. “How did you get here, then?”

“I don’t know. I was unconscious, but I know Cas was responsible.” Dean started patting his pockets. He’d thought about calling Sam earlier, but his cell phone was God-knew-where, and until about an hour ago, Dean had been having trouble staying awake, let alone making any phone calls. “You got a cell phone?”

“In my car. It’s probably best to get you out of the hospital anyway.” The elevator ride was made in uncomfortable silence, and Dean observed her surreptitiously. Nurse’s scrubs didn’t do jack for anyone’s figure, but he saw enough to know that she was curvy, with wide hips, a rounded ass, and full breasts. Her straight, black hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and her hazel eyes were red-rimmed.

She looked as tired as he felt, Dean realized, and he knew that he owed her a thank you. It wasn’t everyone who would drop everything to sneak a stranger out of a hospital in response to a demonic menace.

“Thanks.” He broke the silence in the elevator just as the buzzer went off and the doors opened.

Molly shrugged. “Yeah. You’re welcome.” She spoke as though the words had left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Dean let it go and followed her out of the elevator, feeling the pull of the stitches in his side, the dull ache of broken ribs that was only going to get worse as the pain medications wore off.

His eyebrows went up when he saw her ancient Subaru; it was more rust than metal, and as ugly as sin. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She glared at him. “Don’t knock it. It’s what I’ve got.”

Dean smirked, enjoying the rise he’d gotten out of her, but he refrained from further commentary. He needed her, at least for now.

Molly passed him a Blackberry as soon as he slid into the passenger seat, and Dean raised an eyebrow, surprised at the incongruity of the brand new phone and the battered vehicle. He said nothing, however, as she started the car, and the engine fired up smoothly as he finished dialing Sam’s number.

After a few rings, it went to voicemail, and Dean grimaced in frustration. “Sam, it’s me. We ran into some trouble at the hospital, and we’re going to find a place to lie low. I need you to meet us. Call me back at this number.”

They were out of the parking garage when he hung up, and Dean glanced out the window to see tree-lined streets, the sun starting to make its descent. “Mind if I make another call?”

“Feel free.”

Now that they were away from the hospital, Molly appeared to be relaxing, but Dean couldn’t. He needed to know if Sam was okay, and with every second that passed, he was feeling less drugged and more on edge.

Lucifer was free, they were being hunted by the forces of Heaven and Hell, Sam was off who-knew-where, and Castiel was distracting demons so that Dean could escape.

Dean dialed Bobby’s number from memory, praying that the old man would pick up. Even if he hadn’t heard from Sam, Bobby might have.

“Hello?”

“Bobby, it’s Dean.”

“What in the hell happened to you, son?” Bobby demanded immediately. “You just disappeared on me.”

“It was the angels.” Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat. Knowing that they had betrayed him, that there really was no force for good working against Lucifer, that there was no _God_—it hurt a hell of a lot more than he’d thought it would. “You were right about them, Bobby. Cas came through for us, but—”

Dean cursed as the car swerved suddenly, and Molly echoed him. “Son of a bitch!”

“What’s going on, Dean?” Bobby demanded.

Dean looked over his shoulder to see Castiel sitting in the back seat, slumped down and clutching his side. “Cas just landed. We’re fine.”

“And who’s driving?”

“We caught a ride from one of the nurses at the hospital.” Dean didn’t want to spend more time on minor issues, not when he could see the blood seeping through Castiel’s fingers. “Have you heard from Sam?”

“He called about twelve hours ago,” Bobby replied. “I told him to find you and haul both your asses back here.”

“Shit.” Dean had no idea what was taking Sam so long. Cas had obviously checked him into the hospital under his own name; there was no reason he should have—“Where are we?”

Molly looked at him like he was crazy. “What?”

“Where are we? What town?”

“Baltimore. How the hell did you not know that?”

Dean ignored the question. “Bobby, we’re in Baltimore. We’re headed—” He looked at Molly. She glared but rattled off an address. “Got that?”

“I got it. I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Dean.”

Dean did, too, but he had an angel bleeding in the backseat of a car, and a stranger driving. “Tell Sam to pick us up if you talk to him before I do,” Dean ordered. “And Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“See what you can find out about falling angels?”

There was a pause. “Yeah. Be careful.”

As soon as Dean hung up, Molly glanced in the rearview mirror. “Please tell me you’re not bleeding all over my seats.”

Castiel met Dean’s eyes, and there was a sort of rueful knowledge on Cas’ face that made Dean wince. “I’m not bleeding on your seats,” he said hopefully.

Molly sighed. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

“Where is ‘there?’” Dean asked.

“My place. I’ll patch your friend up, and you’ll be safe for a while.”

She sounded certain, and Dean began to wonder what this gift of hers entailed. “You’re sure about that?”

“I’m sure.”

It was all she would say, and silence settled over the car.


	2. Chapter 2

It turned out that “closest hospital” did not mean “the one right up the road” to an angel. What it meant was a random hospital in the middle of Baltimore, and by the time Sam figured out which one, Dean had already absconded. He was apparently aided by a nurse—no surprise there—although the receptionist Sam had talked to said it was right around the time of some kind of light explosion. It sounded like demon trouble to Sam, and he was forcibly reminded of the nurse Lilith’s “own personal chef” had been possessing.

He pushed down the nausea resolutely. That wasn’t going to help Dean. He could wallow in his guilt later. Sam also ignored his trembling hands. The withdrawal from the demon blood wasn’t nearly as bad as last time, but he was still feeling its effects.

This time he was going to get through it.

The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts, and Sam picked up as soon as he saw Bobby’s number. “What’s up, Bobby?”

“Your brother wants you to pick him up,” he said without preamble. “He’s using a different phone, so don’t expect to see his number. Sounds like he found some woman to help him out of a jam, which isn’t surprising.”

“No, it’s not.” Sam couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips, even though it felt foreign, as though it didn’t belong there. “Is he okay?”

“As okay as you are, I’d imagine.” Bobby’s voice gentled a bit. “Be careful, Sam. Dean already has demons after him.”

“I’ll be careful,” Sam promised, and took down the address and phone number Bobby gave. He saw that he had a message as soon as he hung up, and he listened to Dean’s voice, sounding tense and anxious, his words just a little slurred.

Sam ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the stubble there. He looked around the shitty motel room and thought longingly of collapsing on the bed, but he started packing up his stuff instead. Tossing the keys on the bed, Sam headed for the car.

It looked like they were going to be on the road again.

~~~~~

Dean started as the car pulled to a halt. He’d nearly dozed off, something that pissed him off. They were in the middle of a war, and he couldn’t afford that kind of slip-up.

“Sorry.” Molly pulled up in front of a rundown duplex, looking over her shoulder at Castiel, who was looking both pale and pained. She sighed. “Look, my grandma is staying with me for a while.”

Dean coughed. “What?”

“My grandmother. Is staying with me.” She glared at him. “You got a problem with that?”

“No!” Dean raised his hands in surrender. “I was just wondering if it was going to be a problem.”

“Shouldn’t be.”

Dean watched as she helped Cas out of the backseat; she had forbidden him from assisting, saying that she didn’t want to stitch him up again.

Castiel grunted as Molly pulled his arm over her shoulders, swaying a bit under Cas’ weight. She tossed her keys to Dean. “You get the door.”

Dean obeyed, only to find himself facing a trim Latina woman in her early 60’s, who started speaking rapidly in Spanish. He held up his hands, trying to indicate that he wasn’t there to do any harm. “I’m sorry, I—”

“_Abuelita_!” Molly spoke from behind him, and Dean found himself caught between the older woman and the younger. She at least continued in English so that he could understand what was being said. “He’s a friend. They both are.”

The older woman moved out of Dean’s way, and Molly finished dragging Castiel into the house, lowering him onto the ancient, threadbare couch after a moment’s hesitation. “Try not to bleed on the couch,” she ordered. “I just got it.”

“Molly!”

This time, Molly spoke in Spanish. Dean had no idea what they were saying, but after a minute, the older woman threw up her hands and left the room.

“She’s getting bandages,” Molly said blandly. “You, Cas-whatever-your-name-is, coat off.”

Castiel seemed to rouse himself at that. “It’s Castiel.”

“I didn’t think it was just ‘Cas,’” she replied with a smirk. “That doesn’t seem like a typical name for an angel.”

Castiel managed to glower without changing his expression. “I don’t see how it matters.”

“It matters because this is going to hurt like a bitch, and it would be better if you’re thinking about something else, like being pissed off at me.” Molly had been divesting Castiel of his coat, shirt, and tie quickly and efficiently. She regarded the knife wound in his side with a clinical eye. “Can you tell me if you’re going to bleed to death? Or is this much blood normal for an angel?”

“I am—somewhat less than what I was.” Castiel managed to look apologetic. “But I will not bleed to death.”

“That’s something to be thankful for.” Molly’s voice was gently teasing, and she looked up to take the box of first aid supplies from her grandmother as the older woman rejoined them. “Grandma, this is Castiel and Dean. This is my grandma, Elena.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dean managed.

Elena was staring at Castiel, not him, however, speaking in Spanish. Dean was not surprised when Castiel responded in the same language, his voice a low rumble.

“Enough,” Molly finally said. “It’s not polite to speak in a language my guests can’t understand.”

Dean suddenly realized that they had gone from obviously unwelcome visitors to guests, possibly because Elena was having such a problem with their presence.

“Very well.” Elena’s accent wasn’t nearly as thick as Dean had been expecting, given her insistence on using Spanish. “My apologies.”

“It’s fine, _Abuelita_.” Molly sighed. “I’m going to need to stitch you up, Castiel, and it’s not going to be pleasant. You think you can hold still for me?”

“I can withstand.”

Elena bustled out of the room, and Dean opened his mouth to warn Cas that this might not be something he could “withstand” but Molly shot him a look, shutting him up without a word. By the time Molly had cleaned and disinfected the knife wound, Elena had come back, this time with twin shot glasses full of a golden liquor.

“_Abuelita_,” Molly objected. “Dean is on pain medications.”

“They have nearly worn off.” Elena handed him a shot glass, and Dean gave Molly a pointed look before he tossed the alcohol back.

It burned going down, and Dean knew enough about tequila to know it was the good stuff. “Thanks,” he choked out.

Castiel gave him a dubious look, then tossed back the shot himself. He coughed, which made Dean laugh, which hurt his ribs. Elena produced a bottle from thin air and set it on the coffee table. “I will make dinner. Should I expect anyone else?”

“When is your brother going to be here?” Molly asked.

Dean shrugged, then winced, thinking better of the movement when his broken ribs sent a sharp pain through his side. “An hour, maybe two.”

“I’ll make extra,” Elena announced, leaving the room.

Dean frowned as Molly threaded a needle. “What was that about?”

“What?”

“She wasn’t too happy with us a few minutes ago, and suddenly she’s plying us with tequila and making dinner?”

Molly blushed. “She thought I gave you a key so that I could…” She trailed off. “Let’s just say that my grandma doesn’t have much faith in my ability to choose boyfriends, so she jumped to the rather illogical conclusion that I gave you a key.”

Dean wasn’t buying it. “And later? When she yelled at you some more?”

“She wanted to know how I’d come by an injured angel, and didn’t I realize that this was proof that God had a plan for my life, and my gift was in demand?” Molly shrugged. “Since this is at least the sixth time we’ve had the same argument, I’m not too worried about it.”

All this time, she had been knotting the thread, threading the needle, and beginning to stitch up Castiel’s knife wound. Seeing the angel’s face lose what little color it had left, Dean reached over and poured them both another shot.

“Drink,” he ordered, pressing the shot glass into Cas’ free hand, following his own advice. After a moment, Castiel did as he was told.

Dean saw the look that Molly gave Cas, amusement warring with concern on her face as he choked on the alcohol once again. She shook her head and continued to stitch, her movements careful, painstaking. Dean could see the stitches appear against pale skin, the injury closing slowly.

“You’re good at that,” Dean observed, slumping back against the cushions of the sickly green recliner.

“If you can sew a straight seam and you have steady hands, you can stitch someone up.” Molly glanced up from her work. “It’s not brain surgery, and I’m guessing you don’t want me to take your angelic friend back to the hospital.”

“Probably not a good idea,” Dean acknowledged. “Cas? You okay?”

“It is…more painful than I expected.” Castiel seemed to have trouble managing a full sentence. He gasped as Molly pulled the thread tight.

“Sorry,” she said. “We’re just about done.”

She was as good as her word. Molly finished up, taping gauze over the wound. “You’re good to go.”

Castiel looked at her with glazed eyes. “Thank you. You have been most helpful.”

Molly laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “Sure thing. Right place, wrong time.”

Castiel’s head lolled back against the couch as he passed out.

“Cas?” Dean asked, feeling more than a little fuzzy himself.

“He’s fine. He doesn’t have much tolerance for alcohol, but he’ll be fine.” Molly shook out an afghan that had been lying over the back of the couch, spreading it over Castiel. “Get some sleep, Mr. Winchester. We’ve got time.”

“Dean,” he corrected her, but the alcohol, probably combined with the pain medication, was hitting him hard, too, and he was out a moment later.

~~~~~

Molly regarded the two unconscious men—okay, one really hot guy, and one really hot angel—with rueful bemusement. She was convinced that her grandmother was somehow responsible for this. Elena had always told her that she should use her gifts, that she had a purpose, that she was here to do God’s work.

And now this.

She walked into the kitchen, arms crossed over her chest. “You did this.”

“I did nothing,” Elena replied in Spanish. “And you are getting rusty, not using your mother tongue.”

“I’m getting nothing,” Molly shot back. “And I use Spanish everyday, translating in the hospital.”

“Well, then at least you are using _one_ of your gifts.” Elena gave her the evil eye, something Molly was used to. It had been happening since she was sixteen and came home with her eyebrow pierced.

Molly was having none of it. “You pray for trouble, and it comes. This is what happens. You pray to use a gift like the one I have, and I have demons and angels on my doorstep.”

“At least you took the opportunity given to you by God.”

“Screw God,” Molly muttered, but not loud enough for her grandmother to hear. Elena would have slapped her—thirty-year-old woman or no.

Elena gave her a look that told Molly she’d probably overheard anyway. “Enough of that. What will you do?”

Molly waved a hand toward the living room. “_Abuelita_! Did you not see me? I stitched them up! I probably lost my job for helping them sneak out of the hospital without paying! I warned them of the demons that were coming! What more would you have me do?”

“Whatever is required, _niña_,” Elena replied gently. “God will not ask of you more than you can bear.”

“My body bears the scars that would prove differently,” Molly shot back.

“And yet you are here!” Elena said triumphantly. “You help people. You bring a wounded man and angel to your home.”

Molly bit her tongue to prevent the curse words that were sure to come. Her grandmother had always been certain that God not only existed, but that he _cared_, that he had some sort of grand plan for the universe that included Molly.

Well, Molly wasn’t buying it. Plans—grand or otherwise—generally meant trouble for her. She was well acquainted with others’ plans.

She took a deep breath, knowing from past experience that there was no arguing with Elena when she was in this sort of mood. If her grandmother wanted to take the presence of an injured angel on Molly’s couch as a sign from God, so be it.

“What are you making?”

“I had prepared enchiladas,” Elena replied. “And I had prepared more than necessary so that you could freeze half and eat them later.”

Molly rolled her eyes. This was also a familiar argument. According to Elena, she didn’t eat properly. “So we feed the hungry men, and send them on their way.”

As little taste as she had for the first part of the plan, Molly couldn’t argue with the second part. She would at least know that she had done what she could for them. No one could ask more of her than that—not even her grandmother.

~~~~~

Sam pulled up in front of the rundown duplex, checking to be sure the number on the front of the house lined up with what he had written down. Walking slowly up the driveway and the walk, Sam spotted a trail of blood on the pavement, causing him to speed his steps.

He rang the doorbell, wondering just what it was he was going find, and feeling more than a little nervous. Sam had nearly choked Dean to death, he’d broken the final seal, and there had been no time to explain, or to make amends. Sorry just didn’t seem to cut it. And now his brother was hurt, and they were on the run from who-knew-what.

Sam just wanted a chance to make things right.

The woman who opened the door had to crane her neck to meet his eyes, her well-endowed figure filling out a t-shirt and jeans admirably. “You must be Sam Winchester.”

“Uh, yeah.” Sam cleared his throat. “Is Dean here?”

“Both your brother and his angel are here.” She stepped aside to allow him to enter. “I’m Molly Cortez, by the way.”

Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, unsure of how to respond to that. “Nice to meet you.”

“Dean and Castiel are passed out.” Molly’s expression reflected concern tinged with pity. “Dinner isn’t ready yet, or I’d wake them up for you.” She led him down the hall, past the living room with Dean’s sleeping figure in a ratty recliner, and Castiel collapsed on the couch.

Sam craned his neck to get a better view and started with the question that was of greatest concern, as he followed her into the kitchen. The small room smelled strongly of spices, a rich, warm smell that had his mouth watering. “How is Dean?”

“Two broken ribs and a nasty gash on his side that showed some signs of infection,” Molly responded readily. “He’s been pumped full of antibiotics, though, and with any luck that will take care of it.”

“And Castiel?”

Molly shook her head. “You’re asking about an angel. He keeps saying that he’s been lessened somehow. He had a knife wound that I stitched up. I don’t know much more than that. This is new territory for me.”

Sam winced. “Are they going to be okay to travel?”

“Assuming they don’t have to fight off any more demons, yeah, I think so.” Molly waved him to a seat at the kitchen table. “My grandmother is insisting that we feed you before sending you on your way.”

Sam shifted in his chair. “Look, I really appreciate what you’ve done for Dean. I know this was a huge inconvenience, but—”

She gave him a look that had him shutting his mouth. “I wasn’t going to leave anyone to get jumped by a couple of demons.”

Sam thought about explaining that he and Dean had watched a lot of people do a lot of horrible stuff—even while not possessed, but his attention was caught by the tattoo on the small of her back as she reached up to pull a stack of plates out of the cupboard.

“You have a tattoo,” he said lamely. Sam remembered the girl who had been so enamored of the books that Chuck had written she’d gotten a tattoo much like theirs, but Molly didn’t seem the type.

“Ward against demon possession. I’m aware.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You could help me out, you know.”

Sam scrambled to his feet. “Sure. Sorry. What do you want me to do?”

“Set the table,” Molly replied. “Grandma went out for her walk, but she’ll be back any minute.”

Sam stared at the plates Molly had put into his hands. He wasn’t used to this sort of domesticity. Even when he had been living with Jess, they didn’t really sit down and eat at a table together, preferring instead to load their plates up in the kitchen, then find a place to sit that wasn’t covered by books and papers.

“One at each chair,” Molly said softly. “We’re lucky that my grandmother insisted on a real table with real chairs. Castiel probably won’t be up to moving, if he wakes up.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Sam asked, alarmed.

Molly grinned, and the expression made her appear years younger, her hazel eyes sparkling. “Tequila. I get the feeling that your angel friend is a light-weight.”

Sam found himself with a dozen questions on the top of his tongue—how did she know that Castiel was an angel? How did she know that his brother was being hunted by demons? Why did she have a ward tattooed on her back? Why had she been so willing to help a couple of strangers?

He clutched the plates harder as the house began to rattle, and a bright light shone through the windows.

“What the hell?” Molly demanded.

“Angels.” Sam didn’t know if this was a good thing or not—he needed to talk to Dean _so badly_—but he suspected that it wasn’t. The angels certainly weren’t going to be pleased to see him.

Dean appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes wild. “We have to get Cas outta here, Sammy!”

“What the fuck is going on?” Molly demanded, shouting to make herself heard over the roaring of wind. It sounded like a freight train was bearing down on the house, and Sam put the plates down on the table.

“Archangels!” Dean yelled back. “They’re not real happy with Cas!”

“You’re being hunted by Heaven _and_ Hell?” Molly’s voice was edging on shrill, and Sam couldn’t blame her for starting to lose her nerve. Sam had seen what the angels could do, and being on their bad side was definitely a reason to panic.

The back door burst open, and Sam braced himself for the next threat, knowing that he was probably the only one in any shape to fight.

Not that he’d be able to do any good against angels, and he wasn’t sure he had any mojo left to deal with demons, but if he couldn’t save them, they were screwed.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean felt a tremendous sense of relief when Elena walked through the back door. She shouted something at Molly in Spanish, blinking against the steadily growing light. Dean was forced to close his eyes, throwing up an arm to block the glare that burned even through closed eyelids.

He heard Elena shout something else, again in Spanish, and Sam yelled at him to run, that he would stay, and all was suddenly silent.

Dean opened his eyes, looking around to see that nothing had been displaced; there was no broken glass, and no sign that they had just been under siege. He dashed back out to the living room to see Castiel trying to stand, eyes glazed and red and weary, hand clutching his side.

“Cas? You okay?”

The angel—or ex-angel, Dean wasn’t sure—nodded. Dean could see the bruises beginning to form on Castiel’s bare chest, the ugly brown-black of new contusions showing just how badly he’d been hurt fending off the demons the last time they’d been threatened.

Castiel looked past Dean. “You have had this house blessed.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Molly replied. “Why?”

Castiel’s expression didn’t change, but Dean could see the hope kindle in his eyes, and he had no idea why a blessed doorway would have made Cas feel better. Then again, maybe he just felt at home.

“Angels can do no violence here.” Cas almost sounded smug. “The word of the Lord, and his protection, still mean something.”

Molly covered her face with her hands for a moment. When she finally looked up, her face was lined with weariness. “You know, I think I’m going to need some of that tequila myself.” She pointed a finger at Castiel. “You. Sit. If you’re hungry, I’ll bring you a plate out here, but you’re in no shape to be moving around.”

Since she issued no similar order to Dean, he followed her back to the kitchen, catching sight of his brother sitting at the kitchen table, looking huge and miserable and entirely out of place.

“Dean,” Sam said, standing as Dean entered the room. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good, Sammy.” Dean could see Sam giving him a once-over, as though his eyes could see past filthy clothing to the skin below, could see the deeper wounds. It was so familiar that for a moment, all Dean could think about doing was pulling Sam into his arms.

But not in front of strangers. There were things they needed to discuss, but not here, and not now.

Sam seemed to understand his reticence for what it was, nodding and sitting back down.

“Will someone please have the courtesy to tell me why I suddenly need to worry about an invasion of angels, on top of demons?” Molly asked, collapsing in a chair and throwing back a shot of tequila. “Oh, and there’s beer in the fridge, Sam.”

“What about me?” Dean demanded.

She gave him the evil eye. “Whatever my grandmother might think, those meds are still working their way out of your system. And if you want more, you’re going to have to abstain from alcohol.”

Dean might have tried to argue—he’d mixed alcohol with a lot of stuff, and it hadn’t killed him yet—but Elena bustled back into the kitchen. “Sit down, all of you. Dinner is ready.”

Dean sighed and eyed Sam’s beer longingly, but decided not to argue further.

The enchiladas Elena dished up were full of rich meat, cheese and sauce. The smell alone set his mouth to watering, but Dean still offered to take Cas’ plate out to him. “You eat,” Elena said. “Molly can do it. She can wait until after you eat for her answers.”

Molly rolled her eyes in response, but she took two plates out, her own and one Dean could only assume was meant for Castiel. He felt a spike of gratitude that she wasn’t going to leave Cas by himself.

Cas might not be family, but Dean felt responsible for him. Dean _owed_ him, and it made him a little antsy to not have both Castiel and Sam in sight. Still, it looked like they were about as safe as they were going to get, at least for now, and Dean was focused on his own helping of enchiladas.

He was hungrier than he’d first thought, and Dean devoured the first plate quickly, accepting the second helping from Elena with a gruff “thanks.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a home-cooked meal, but this one was one of the better ones.

Silence reigned at the dinner table. Sam’s silence was kind of freaking Dean out, but he chalked it up to a traumatizing experience and being too hungry to make conversation. Since Sam was plowing through his third serving when Molly came back with two empty plates, Dean figured it was a good guess.

“How’s Cas?” Dean asked.

Molly shrugged, putting the plates in the sink. “He’s sleeping now. Otherwise, your guess is as good as mine.”

“Molly!” Elena reprimanded.

“He’s an angel; Dean’s guess really is as good as mine,” Molly retorted.

Sam cleared his throat. “He isn’t human now?”

Molly shook her head. “To me, he just looks like an angel.” She sat down at the table and poured herself another shot of tequila. “So, since we were interrupted before, I want to know why the hell the archangels tried to invade my house.”

Dean felt, rather than saw, Sam’s flinch, even though the archangels weren’t his brother’s fault. He knew Molly had seen it, too, by the way her eyes flicked to Sam, and Dean stepped in to protect him as he always did. “I wouldn’t do what they wanted, and I talked Cas into helping.”

“What who wanted?” Molly was clearly not following, and Dean couldn’t blame her. It was a confusing story, even for them.

“Some of the angels wanted the apocalypse to happen; I didn’t. Cas agreed with me.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “I like the world the way it is.”

For a moment, Dean thought she was going to argue with him, to demand more information, but she simply shook her head. “And the demons?”

Dean shrugged. “I’ve killed a few. They’re pissed at me.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but Dean didn’t want to get into the details.

“Wait, how do you know about demons?” Sam asked. “And your tattoo. It’s a ward against possession.”

Elena raised her eyebrows, her disapproval clear. “You have a tattoo, _niña_?”

Sam looked completely stricken. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry, I—”

“She’s messing with you, Sam,” Molly said. “She knows I have the tattoo. And you two aren’t the only ones to ever piss off a demon.” She rose from the table. “You guys can stay here for tonight. I’ll set up a couple of air mattresses in the living room. We can probably get the local priest over here to bless the car, prevent the archangels from snatching you while you’re on the road.”

“I can do it, if you’ve got the words.”

Molly appeared surprised for a moment, then let out a laugh. “I should have known. Yeah, I can dig up the ritual for you.”

Elena cleared her throat. “Molly—”

“No.”

Something passed between them that Dean couldn’t read, but he understood how family worked, those silent exchanges no one else could decipher.

“I’ll help clean up,” Sam offered.

Elena rose. “Good. I’ll be back soon.”

“Where’s she going?” Dean asked as soon as the back door closed behind Elena.

“Best guess? Church, to pray for my soul and my bad attitude.” Molly gave Dean a flippant smile. “Look, I’ll go set up the air mattresses, if you’ll load the dishwasher.”

Sam cleared his throat once Molly was out of the room. “So, Bobby’s after this.”

“Yeah, I figure. We’ll call Bobby and let him know bless his place, if he hasn’t already.”

“Probably has.”

“Knowing Bobby.” Dean sat staring at his kid brother, having some idea of the weight of his guilt. Sam might have broken the last seal, but Dean started it. “You okay?”

Sam tried to smile without much success. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Sammy—”

“I’ll be fine, Dean. I’ll—you were right, you know.”

Dean never minded hearing that, especially from his know-it-all brother, but he would like to know what he was right _about_, that way he could be sure to repeat it in the future. “No shit. What was I right about this time?”

“In your voice mail message, you called me a monster. You said—”

“I didn’t call you a monster, Sam, not then. I might have called you a moron, but I was calling to apologize.” Dean tried to keep his voice down, but he thought that the restraint might kill him, especially with Sam staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

Then Dean remembered _where_ he’d been when he’d left the message. “Let me see your phone.”

“Huh?”

“Did you delete the message?”

“No, but—”

“Give me the phone, Sam.”

Sam handed his phone over with a grumpy look. “Fine.”

Dean listened to the message. “Those sons of bitches. That’s not what I said.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The angels must have changed it, or maybe it was Ruby. Who the hell knows? The point is that I didn’t leave that message.” Dean deleted it with a vicious punch of his finger and returned the phone. “I apologized.”

Dean saw the stricken expression on Sam’s face. “Stop it, Sam. It happened, we’ll deal with the consequences, just like we always do.” He smiled. “Hey, look at the bright side. You’re not dead, and I don’t have a deadline, so we came out ahead.”

Sam stared at him, then gave an incredulous laugh, beginning to clear the plates off the table. “Yeah, that’s one way of looking at it.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s the only way to look at it. But for the record, I _was_ right.”

Sam snorted. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

That was more like it.

~~~~~

Waking was a new experience. Castiel had no words for how to describe the sensation of climbing up from unconsciousness, not knowing where he was, or even who he was, not when he’d _always_ known as an angel of the Lord.

Now, however, it took him a minute or two to remember that he had fallen asleep on Molly’s couch, that he was still mostly an angel, and that the Host of Heaven was intent on capturing or killing him.

Castiel rose slowly, feeling the bruises on every inch of his borrowed form, looking at the sleeping figures of the Winchester brothers passed out on a couple of air mattresses on the floor. Their feet hung off the ends, and Castiel spared a moment to watch the even rise and fall of their chests.

They were both precious to him—although Sam was precious because he was dear to Dean. And Dean was…

Castiel turned his thoughts away from the sleeping men, catching sight of a t-shirt draped over the back of the couch. He didn’t see the clothing his vessel had been wearing for the last year, and so he took the shirt, feeling the soft cotton against his skin in a way he never had before.

He was losing himself, Castiel thought wistfully. He could no longer hear the Host, and Castiel knew without attempting it that he would not be able to leave his vessel behind. He had been bound to the vessel at the same time that Jimmy Novak’s soul had been ripped away.

But he would do it all over again.

Castiel moved in the direction of the low voices coming from the kitchen, carefully stepping over Sam’s feet. He could hear Molly and her grandmother speaking quietly in Spanish and took comfort in the fact that he could understand them. Angels could naturally speak all of the languages of men, and the fact that he could still do so suggested that perhaps he had not fallen quite as far as he’d thought.

Elena was insisting that Molly offer to drive the men wherever they were going. Molly was protesting that she had a job and bills to pay, and couldn’t drop everything to road trip with a few strangers.

Elena had a counter to every argument, mostly focusing on the fact that it wasn’t every day one entertained angels. She also kept insisting that Molly would feel terribly guilty if something happened to her guests.

“I have a feeling that my assistance isn’t going to make much difference,” Molly shot back. “What can I do? Besides, he’s an apostate angel.”

Elena made a sound that even Castiel could tell expressed triumph. “But still an angel! He would have fallen if _God_ had been angry with him. Helping them is doing God’s work.”

“Why should I do God’s work? He never did anything for me.” The bitterness in Molly’s voice had Castiel swallowing hard. He remembered the same anger being in Dean’s voice, and once, he would have known what had caused it without being told.

Once, Castiel might have been angered by her words, but he had his own doubts to contend with. He was no longer certain that he had been doing God’s work, or that his brethren were carrying out God’s will.

These days, he had his own doubts about God.

Still, he knew that Dean would be the one to send Lucifer back to hell, and that they needed all the help they could get. Castiel knew that he would use this woman to protect Dean without compunction.

“Excuse me,” he said politely. “I couldn’t help overhearing.”

Molly sighed. “Sit down, and let’s see your wound.”

Castiel did as she asked, allowing her to lift his shirt to view her handiwork. “It’s healing well.” She gave him a satisfied smile from her position kneeling on the floor by his chair. “Much faster than it would have normally.”

It might have been faster than it would have been for a normal human, but it wasn’t fast enough for an angel, who could heal his vessel with a thought. “That’s good news,” Castiel managed, realizing that she was expecting a response.

She let out a laugh. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

Castiel recognized sarcasm easily after months of dealing with Dean. “I am most grateful for your assistance, as I said.”

“But you want something else.” Molly rose. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Castiel responded.

“Anything in it?”

Dean took it with sugar, Castiel knew, but he had no idea how he preferred it. “No, thanks.” She put the cup in front of him, and Castiel watched the steam rise in lazy ribbons. “I understand that we’re asking too much, but you must understand. This is not about doing God’s work. This is about saving the world.”

Molly smirked even as Elena gave Castiel a dirty look. “And saving the world isn’t doing God’s work?” Elena demanded in Spanish.

“I no longer know,” he admitted. “I wish I did.”

Molly crossed her arms. “What do you want me to do?”

“From what your grandmother said, I take it that you have a safer method of travel.”

“My car is blessed and warded against demons,” Molly admitted. “So, yeah. It’s about as safe as you can get.”

“And you will not let us take it.”

“I’d rather not.”

“But you’ll drive us.”

Molly gave him a sour look. “Like I told my _abuela_, no. I’ve got a life, and it’s here.”

Castiel thought that it might be time to voice his own suspicions on the matter. “Molly, think for a moment. _You_ were Dean’s nurse. You had your house blessed, and the angels couldn’t enter with violent intentions. You see true forms. Who knows but you may have been sent to us by the Lord himself.”

Molly frowned. “I thought you weren’t sure if you were doing God’s work.”

“You are here. That gives me hope.”

“Shit,” Molly muttered, glaring at him. “I hate you.”

Castiel realized that she had just capitulated, and that she wasn’t nearly as angry as she was pretending to be. “Thank you.”

Molly snorted. “Yeah. You won’t be so thankful when you’ve got me in the car with you.”

~~~~~

Molly couldn’t believe she was doing this. She slammed the trunk closed, glaring impartially at the Winchesters, their goddamn angel, and her grandmother. She had finally been getting her life back on track—she had a job, she had a decent place to live, and she was dealing.

And now it was all going to be wiped away.

She leaned against the back of the car, staring at Elena. “You’ll take care of things here for a while?”

“You let me worry about it, and take as long as you need.” Elena shrugged. “I was planning to relocate.”

“Liar. You’re just doing everything you can to facilitate this.”

Elena smiled. “You have a gift, my dear one. To not use it is a crime against God.”

“And if this isn’t of God?” Molly asked.

Elena took her face between her hands. “I had a dream.”

Molly only wished that she could scoff, but her grandmother’s dreams often came true; it was just too bad that the gifts that ran strong in her blood had skipped a generation. Her dad could have used some damn discernment. “You had a dream,” she finally said.

“Yes, and in it, I saw that you could help. You could play a role as a healer and a support, but only if you leave now.”

“And if I don’t?” Molly asked.

“If you don’t, I believe that the world will still be saved, but more will die.” Elena’s hands moved to clasp hers. “You are a nurse. You have discernment. You can be of service.”

Molly sighed. “I wanted a normal life.”

“Normal is what we make of it.” Elena kissed her forehead. “I will call your parents and tell them.”

Molly blinked back tears, wishing that it could be easier, wishing that she could be the one to talk to her parents, but there was no way. Not after everything that had happened between them, not when she couldn’t even manage to choke out a hello when she saw them.

“Thanks,” she managed.

“Anything for you.” Elena smiled. “Now, enjoy your adventure. I wish I were your age. I would go with you.”

“I wish you could.” Elena drove her crazy sometimes, but Molly loved her grandmother, the one person in her life who had always been on her side. “_Te amo, abuelita_.”

“_Te amo, niña_.”

Molly pressed her forehead to Elena’s, then forced a smile and turned to meet Castiel’s eyes. He appeared calm on the surface, but she sensed the tension. He was worried, and she didn’t blame him.

But her car was warded against demons and angelic violence, and Sam’s vehicle would serve as a decoy if they were hounded. It was a good plan.

Molly just wished she knew what she was getting herself into.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam needed to stay away from his brother; Dean would take one look at him and figure out that he was not in good shape. Staring at his shaking hands, Sam knew he wasn’t going to last the long drive to Bobby’s.

“You weren’t thinking about driving like that, were you?”

Sam sighed and held back a curse. “Dean—”

“Do you remember what happened the last time you were detoxing?” Dean demanded in a low voice. “You can’t drive, Sammy.”

“What’s the holdup here?” Molly approached them, hands in the pockets of her tight jeans.

“Sam can’t drive.” Dean turned to face her. “We need another plan.”

“I’m fine, Dean.” He had the keys in his hand, and all he needed to do was slip behind the wheel of the car and take off. But Sam wasn’t doing that anymore, and if Dean needed him, Sam wanted to be there.

Molly frowned, giving Sam a sharp look. Something in his demeanor must have given him away, because she reached up to feel the side of his face. “You’re running a fever.” Looking him up and down, Molly’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, what were you on?”

“Huh?”

“He’s coming off of demon blood,” Dean supplied.

Sam saw the unease and the disgust cross her face, and felt heat rise to his own.

Molly shook her head. “You know what? I don’t think I want to know. Dean’s right, though. You’re not okay to drive.”

“He’s not going to be okay to ride either.” Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Last time, things got pretty rough.”

“I can help.”

Castiel’s quiet voice had Dean spinning to face the angel. “You can _help_?”

Sam heard the unspoken accusation: if Castiel could help _now_, why hadn’t he done anything the first time, when Dean and Bobby had locked Sam in the panic room?

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but Dean cut him off with a jerk of his hand. “Forget it. You can help?”

“I can—keep him sedated.”

“Hey, standing right here!” Sam protested. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Short answer, no. We don’t have time. We need to get to Bobby’s, and we can’t leave you behind, not when you’re likely to get worse.” Dean looked about as pissed off as Sam had ever seen him—which made sense. Lucifer was out, they were dependent on a near-stranger for help, Sam was still detoxing, and they had a long car ride ahead of them.

Dean turned to Castiel. “There’s no way you can just transport Sam to Bobby’s?”

Castiel shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t have the power right now.”

“Okay, then we drive.” He turned to Molly. “What do you think?”

“How bad could this get?” Molly asked. “On a scale of one to ten?”

Sam cleared his throat. “Ten. It was pretty bad last time. Dean, maybe you should just leave me here. I’m only going to slow you down.”

“Fuck that,” Dean shot back. “No way. I am not leaving you. Not again.”

“Dean, you didn’t leave me. I left you.” Sam’s frustration grew. Dean always did that; always took responsibility when it wasn’t his to take.

“Okay!” Molly stepped between them. “Look, is there another way? Can we fly?”

Dean shook his head. “No. I am _not_ flying. Besides, we can’t get through security. You could drive Sam’s car, maybe. I’ll drive yours.”

“Dean, no,” Sam said. “It was _Ruby’s_ car.”

“And she’s not gonna need it anytime soon.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “And it’s not like Molly is going to have the registration either.”

Molly picked up on the last word of the sentence and its meaning easily enough. “Okay, so we all take my car. We’ll make it work.”

Sam thought that she was being fairly optimistic. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Cas, you can do whatever you need to do.”

“It would be better if you were sitting down first, Sam.” Castiel’s voice was as calm and unruffled as ever, and Sam wished that, just once, he could see the angel passionate about something.

Or maybe he didn’t.

“Time’s a-wasting!” Molly called out, heading back to her car. “Grab your stuff, and let’s go.” She slid behind the wheel of the ancient Subaru and slammed the door, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel in an obvious show of impatience.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean’s hand on his arm was gentler than Sam deserved, and he knew it. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Dean,” he replied and tried not to sigh, because no matter what had happened to them over the last year, his brother had come for him in the end.

That had to count for something.

~~~~~

Dean had underestimated just how _boring_ a road trip could be. He’d spent over half his life in a car, but it was different when he wasn’t driving, and when he didn’t have his music.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Dean saw his brother leaning against the window, still passed out from whatever mojo Cas had worked, before he passed out, as well. Molly swore up and down that Castiel still showed up as angelic on her radar, but his restless dozing told a different story.

Dean sighed, slumping back into the seat. He might have tried to sleep, but he figured someone other than Molly should probably stay alert. “You want me to drive?”

“Maybe in awhile,” Molly replied noncommittally.

“I’m a good driver.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.”

Dean drummed his fingers on his legs. “So, what’s the deal with you?”

“The deal?”

“Your house and car have been blessed. You have a tattoo warding against possession, and your car is warded, too.”

Molly glanced up to the cloth-covered ceiling of the car. “Devil’s trap, actually.”

Dean followed her gaze and noted for the first time that the cloth looked marginally newer than the rest of the interior. “Shit.” Dean eyed her, trying to figure out what he’d missed, because he wouldn’t have pegged her for a psychic or a hunter, or anyone else who normally knew about this stuff. “So, what? Were your parents hunters or something?”

“Hunters?”

“What Sam and I do. We’re hunters. We hunt things, evil things.” Dean snorted. “Okay, spill. No one knows about this shit unless they’re in the middle of it.”

“Only if you give me the whole story about the apocalypse thing.”

“It’s a long story,” Dean hedged.

Molly looked at the in-dash clock pointedly. “The way I figure it, we’ve got time. It’s a 20 hour drive.”

“Ladies first.”

Molly snorted. “Fine. When I was about eight or so, my parents left the Catholic church and got involved with this guy who said he knew a sure way to make heaven here on earth. Over time, he starting asserting more and more control, you know?”

“Cult?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, pretty much. Things started getting really rough, and I still believed all that stuff I learned in catechism class, right? I believed in God and Jesus, and whatever, and I thought maybe if I prayed hard enough, God would talk to the guy in charge and make things better.” Molly’s voice took on a sarcastic, bitter edge. “And one morning, I woke up, and I saw everything clearly.”

Dean caught on quickly. “The gift?”

“Yeah, if you can call it a gift. I tried to tell my parents, since they weren’t possessed, but they thought I was the one with a demon in me.” Molly shrugged. “Let’s just say the guy in charge knew I wasn’t possessed, but it was in his best interest to make sure no one else figured it out.”

“How did you get out?”

“Ran away when I was fourteen, went to stay with my grandma. She got me through high school and college, and I learned everything I could to keep from ever being put in that position again.”

“And your parents?”

“They got out eventually. They had my brother when I was nine or so, and when he started getting hurt, they left.” Molly gave him a twisted smile. “We talk on occasion, but…”

“Yeah, I get that.” And Dean did. If anyone could understand complicated parent-child relationships, he could. “What about your brother?”

“He was five when I left, you know? We talk some now, but he’s in the Air Force, stationed in Afghanistan.” Molly cleared her throat. “Enough about me. It’s your turn.”

Dean was quiet for a moment. “Where do I start?”

“Start at the beginning.”

“Smartass.”

“Yeah, so?” She grinned at him, and Dean was startled to realize that Molly had dimples; she was pretty when she smiled. “Like the same can’t be said about you.”

“Guilty,” Dean admitted. “I guess you could say I’ve been doing this since I was a kid.” He skated over some of it, the unimportant parts, but he hit the highlights. After a bit, he settled into his role as a storyteller. It helped that he had an appreciative audience, and it made the time pass quickly.

When he finished his story, ending with Zachariah and the deaths of Lilith and Ruby, and how he and Sam, and even Castiel, had been duped by the forces of heaven and hell, there was only silence. Dean checked on his brother and Cas again, but they were both out of it—or faking it really well.

After a moment, Molly finally spoke. “So, you’re saying I fell in with a couple of superheroes.”

“I’m just a regular guy, sweet—” The yawn spoiled Dean’s retort.

Molly shook her head. “Sorry, but I don’t buy it. Regular guys don’t try to stop an apocalypse; they run as far away as they can.”

Dean shrugged and yawned again. “People surprise you sometimes.”

“Get some sleep, Dean,” Molly advised. “I’ll let you drive next time we need to pull over.”

Dean settled back, leaning against the window. “Good.”

Strangely enough, he slept without dreaming.

~~~~~

Bobby was used to the Winchester boys showing up, needing his help or a place to stay to recuperate after they got into a pickle. He couldn’t remember them ever showing up in a rusted out old car with a woman and an angel in tow. That part was new.

He took a swig of his beer, standing on the porch and watching as the old car rattled its way into the yard. It sounded like the vehicle was on its last legs. Bobby waited, comfortable where he was.

Dean unfolded himself from the driver’s seat, and if Bobby hadn’t seen Dean Winchester getting out of an ancient Subaru, he wouldn’t have believed it. The woman that exited from the front passenger side was about Dean’s age, and not nearly as pretty as his usual sort. She immediately went to the back door and helped Castiel out, however, proving that she had some use.

Bobby saw, but didn’t hear, the argument between the woman and Dean when Dean went to help Sam out of the back seat. She left Castiel leaning against the car, looking dazed, and stormed over to put herself between Dean and the car.

When he didn’t see Sam getting out of the car, Bobby put his beer down and jogged down off the porch. “You still have broken ribs and stitches, or did you forget?” the woman was saying. “Just fucking back off and let me handle it.”

“He’s my brother.”

“Step aside, Dean,” Bobby grunted, shouldering Dean out of the way and opening the passenger door. “What’s wrong with Sam?”

“He’s detoxing, Bobby,” Dean replied.

Bobby frowned. “Panic room?”

Dean hesitated. “No, I think he’ll stay put.”

The woman had already opened the door to haul a groggy Sam out of the back seat. She staggered under Sam’s weight, and Bobby hauled his other arm over his shoulders. “Dean, get your angel.”

“He’s not my—” Dean’s sigh was audible. “Never mind.”

“Molly Cortez,” the woman said across Sam’s broad chest.

“Bobby Singer,” he groaned under Sam’s weight. It couldn’t be natural, but Bobby swore that Sam got bigger every time he saw the boy.

Between the two of them, they maneuvered Sam into the house. “Upstairs,” Bobby managed.

Molly grunted in response, and they somehow managed to steer a half-conscious Sam up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms. Sam dropped down onto the bed, whimpering once before going silent again.

“What the hell?” Bobby muttered, remembering the last time they’d tried to get Sam off demon blood. He’d yelled the whole house down, and now he was oddly silent.

“Castiel has been working his angel magic on him for the last day or so. He’s been pretty out of it since Maryland. Honestly, I think we want to keep it that way.” Molly was already unbuttoning Sam’s shirt. “He’d dehydrated from the fever. Do you think I could get some water?”

“You a doctor?”

“Nurse.” She didn’t look up, and Bobby decided that there was no point in arguing with her. She apparently knew what she was doing, and Sam was in bad shape, which left him with Dean to question.

“How is he?” Dean asked immediately when Bobby entered the living room.

There hadn’t been time to notice before, but now Bobby saw the dark circles under Dean’s eyes. The stiff way he held himself indicated at least a couple of broken ribs. He turned his attention to Castiel, who was in no better shape.

“You two look like shit.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean snapped. “What about Sam? What did Molly say?”

“Said he was dehydrated,” Bobby replied. “I was going to take some water up.”

“I’ll get it.”

“Take the good stuff,” Bobby ordered, and although he saw Dean’s eye roll, he ignored it.

“‘The good stuff?’” Castiel echoed after Dean had left the room.

Bobby shrugged. “Holy water.”

“I would know if either of them were possessed.”

“Can’t be too careful.”

“And do you require me to pass the same test?”

Bobby looked him over. “No, I guess not. You hungry?”

Castiel appeared to be thinking about the question. “I believe so.”

“I’ll start supper, then. Tell Dean I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Bobby noticed that the angel didn’t offer to help, but when he glanced back over his shoulder, Castiel’s head was back against the couch, and it looked as though he was already asleep.

He couldn’t help but remember the brief glimpse of Castiel in the barn, how he’d walked in with his wind and light show, untouched by shotgun blasts full of rock salt, and supremely confident. If Bobby hadn’t had a good memory for faces, he would have sworn up and down this wasn’t the same guy.

But angel or no, Bobby was still spiking the soup with holy water.

~~~~~

For someone who had not experienced sleep 72 hours ago, Castiel knew he was doing a lot of it. He woke slowly, relieved to feel the power singing through sinew and bone as he stretched.

He was finally healed.

Castiel rose from the couch, pausing to listen to the sounds of the early morning. No one had had much sleep the last few days; after supper, Bobby had offered to sit with Sam, since Dean was no longer willing to lock him up. In fairness to Dean, Castiel didn’t believe it necessary either.

Stepping out onto the porch, Castiel watched the sky lighten to a deep gray as color began to spread from the horizon. He didn’t know that he’d ever watched a sunrise with quite this sense of wonder.

“Cas? What are you doing up?”

He turned to see Dean in the doorway, barefoot, rubbing his eyes. “I was awake.”

“Yeah, but it’s early.”

“I’d slept enough.” Castiel took a step closer. “You should go back to bed. You’re still tired.”

Dean shook his head. “I was dreaming, and it wasn’t all that pleasant. I’ll make some coffee.”

“Wait, Dean.” Castiel called him back without thinking, wanting something he couldn’t put into words. “How are you?”

“Sore, but I’ll live.”

“May I see?”

Castiel had seen the wound when he’d first arrived at the hospital, when they’d removed Dean’s jacket and shirts with quick, efficient hands. He had wished then that he’d had the capacity to heal the man, but that wasn’t where his gift lay.

Castiel was a warrior and a scholar, but not much more.

Now, Dean gave him a strange look, but lifted his t-shirt, revealing toned muscles and smooth skin, marred only by the bright red slash, held together with short strips of tape. Bruises fanned out along his rib cage, and before Castiel could think about what he was doing, he reached out, ghosting gentle fingers around the wound.

He felt Dean’s shiver and straightened, then opened his mouth to apologize before changing his mind. “It looks better than it did.”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” Dean took a step forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, facing the dawn. “Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“How the hell are we supposed to stop this?”

For the first time, Castiel understood the human need to lie in order to shield someone from the truth, but he sensed that lying to Dean would be precisely the wrong tactic. “I do not know, but I believe that we will.”

He did not say that he believed because to do otherwise was to lose hope.

“And Sam?”

That was the more pressing question on Dean’s mind; Castiel was aware of that. In some ways, the fate of the world hung on Sam’s survival as much as it did on Dean’s actions. For without Sam, Castiel didn’t think that Dean would be able to face his destiny.

And because Castiel would not lie, he said nothing at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam awoke slowly, hearing a woman’s voice above his head. “Dean, he’s fine. Get some rest.”

“He’s my brother. You might not be able to understand that, but—”

“Fuck you.”

Sam heard the distress in her voice and the temper in Dean’s, and he forced his eyelids open. “Stop.”

“Sammy.” Dean sat on the edge of his bed a moment later, gripping his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Go get some sleep,” he managed to croak out. “I’m fine.”

“You’re still detoxing.”

“And you’re worn out.” Sam might be half-crazy with pain and need, but he still knew Dean, and his brother was asleep on his feet. “Go.”

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice came from the doorway. “Come. Bobby has dinner ready.”

Dean still hesitated. “I don’t—”

“If you stay, I will kick your ass,” Molly threatened. “Get out of here. Cas—”

Castiel entered the room, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder and tugging a bit. “Come.”

“Call me if he needs _anything_,” Dean ordered.

Molly rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She helped Sam to sit up once Dean was gone, holding a cup of water to his lips. “You need to keep drinking fluids, or you’ll get dehydrated again.”

“Sorry about Dean,” Sam managed once she’d taken the cup away.

“Forget about it. I wish I had a brother who was half as worried about me.”

“Yeah, but he can be a real dick.”

She shrugged. “Trust me. When you’re a nurse, you deal with dicks all the time.”

Sam yelped as she pulled down the bedclothes, realizing for the first time that he was wearing his boxers and nothing else. “What—”

“Easy, big guy.” Molly grinned at him as she grabbed a wet cloth from its basin on the bedside table. “You’ve still got a fever, and a cool cloth is one way to bring it down.”

“I can shower,” Sam protested. “I’m not helpless.”

Molly raised her eyebrows. “Fine. Go for it.”

Feeling self-conscious, Sam made it about two steps when his knees threatened to buckle. Molly immediately put an arm around his waist, getting him back into bed a moment later.

“Behave yourself, and I’ll have your brother help you into a cool bath later,” Molly promised.

Sam felt his eyelids droop. “You’re lying.”

“Probably.” Molly swiped the cool cloth across his forehead and down his chest. “I’m afraid you’re going to have a rough time of it, Sam. This isn’t even the beginning.”

“So what else is new?” he muttered.

She snorted. “You want to play ‘my life sucked’? Because I’ll bet I can beat you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. My parents were involved in a cult with an abusive, demon-possessed asshole as the leader.”

Sam let out a weak laugh. “My dad _was_ an asshole, and he did get possessed by a demon.” He paused. “But we can call it a draw.”

He was unconscious before he heard her answer, although she was able to rouse him long enough to drink some broth—which swiftly came back up again. Sam was only vaguely aware of Molly calling for Dean and Castiel and being dragged to his feet.

Sam whimpered. He felt like the heat was melting his bones; detoxing was different this time, maybe because he’d used up the last of his juice, or because he’d chosen this route. He had chosen this, and he was going to make it through even if it killed him.

His sudden immersion into cold water took his breath away, and Sam yelped and struggled to get free.

A strong hand grabbed his chin, and his eyes opened to see Molly’s face inches from his own. “Breathe,” she ordered.

Sam tried to do as he was told, to calm down, but the cold water was too overwhelming, and he could see Dean’s eyes go black. “NO! _Christo_!”

If his brother was possessed, the others might be as well, and he would have to save Dean. He would have to exorcise the demon, and—

“Shit! Cas!” Dean swore as his hands slipped off of Sam’s shoulders.

“Hang on.” Molly’s voice grounded him. “Sam. Sam, I want you to look at me. Look at me, no one else. You keep your eyes on me.”

He did as he was told, seeing her smile in satisfaction. “That’s right, Sam. Now, remember? I can see angels and demons, and you’ve got an angel in the room right now, but no demons. There aren’t any demons here, and you’re safe. It’s just us.”

Sam allowed her voice to soothe him, and he relaxed slightly.

“Okay, let’s get him up. I don’t want to leave him in there for too long.” Molly kept talking to him as she helped Dean towel him off, and Sam looked up, over Dean’s shoulder at Castiel. The angel was standing in the doorway, and the way he was looking at Dean—

Sam shook his head. It was probably a result of the hallucinations.

He allowed Dean and Molly to hustle him off to bed, and collapsed once again, feeling Molly’s fingers fumbling for his pulse.

“He’s going to be fine, Dean,” he heard Molly say. “Go. Get out of here for a bit.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“If he sees you in one of his hallucinations, it’s going to freak him out. I’m a neutral presence.” Molly sighed. “Cas, can you—”

“Of course.”

“Good. You put Sam out, then get Dean out of my hair for a while before I kill him. He’s starting to drive me crazy.”

“Only starting?” Castiel asked.

Sam heard Molly’s answering laugh, but Dean’s protest was cut off by the feeling of two fingertips pressed against his forehead.

~~~~~

“You want to do _what_?”

“Narcotics are used safely all the time,” Molly insisted.

Dean glared at her. “In a _hospital_, with a _doctor_.”

Molly’s eyes narrowed. “Like you haven’t self-medicated.”

“My brother is already addicted to demon blood; he doesn’t need to get hooked on drugs, too.”

“Give me some credit,” Molly snapped.

Castiel cleared his throat. “Molly…”

She rubbed her eyes. “Dean, I need to know what kind of progress he’s making, and to do that, Castiel can’t be knocking him out all the time. But in order to keep his pain at manageable levels, and keep his heart rate and blood pressure normal, I need to take the edge off.”

Castiel put a hand on Dean’s forearm. “Dean, she has been of great help. You should trust her.”

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“He’s your brother, and you love him, and you want to be sure he’s okay.” She shot him an exasperated look. “Just—let me do my job, Dean. Sam’s hallucinations center around you, which means that when he’s in the middle of one, your presence freaks him out.”

Castiel could see that her words hit Dean hard, but he nodded. “Yeah.”

“Look, I’ll get Sam settled, we’ll get some meds in him, and you can come sit with him when his hallucinations aren’t going strong.”

Bobby came back into the room at just that moment, holding several pill bottles. “I raided the medicine cabinet.”

“Come, Dean.” Castiel tugged him out, leading him out of the kitchen and outside. “I know you’re concerned about Sam, but it will not help to anger Molly.”

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, and Castiel echoed the gesture. They stood there in silence for some time before Dean announced, “I’m going to work on the car.”

Castiel followed him, not having anything better to do. “Sam will make it through this, Dean.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Dean’s hands were nearly black with engine grease when Molly found them. “Sam’s asking for you. He’s lucid, but pretty loopy.”

The ghost of a grin passed over Dean’s face. “Figures. Pain meds always did make him goofy.” He turned to go back in the house. “Hey, Molly—”

“Forget about it,” she replied, waving a hand. “You’re not the first freaked out family member I’ve had to deal with. Why do you think I _like_ working nights?”

Dean’s grin widened, and then he jogged back into the house, leaving Castiel with Molly. It was what Dean would most likely call awkward.

She faced him suddenly and asked, “Do you really believe it?”

“Believe what?”

“That everything happens for a reason, that this is all part of some grand plan. Dean told me that the other angels said that God has stepped out, so how could that be true?”

Castiel stared at the dusty ground. He didn’t care for the question, but he recognized it as valid. “I don’t know.”

He looked up to find Molly staring at him with compassion, as though she recognized how difficult it was for him to question what he’d always regarded as truth. Castiel was no longer certain that the plan was just, but he wished he were.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently.

There was no reply he could make to that.

~~~~~

Molly ended the call to the hospital with a curse, barely hanging onto her temper. It wasn’t like she could inform her boss that there had been a couple of demons hunting for one Dean Winchester, or that the fate of the world supposedly hung on his survival.

If she tried, they would think her a prime candidate for the loony bin. The fact that she couldn’t come up with a better explanation for her actions and subsequent absence—other than the admittedly lame “family emergency”—meant that she was out of a job.

After a full week of almost no sleep, making sure that a near-total stranger didn’t aspirate on his own puke, or spike a fever high enough to kill him, or otherwise manage to die, it was just the icing on the cake. And spending a week with a bunch of _men_, who couldn’t cook to save their lives—except for Bobby, who really did make exceptional chili—couldn’t pick up their wet towels, couldn’t fucking _put the toilet seat down_…

Well, Molly was ready to do some real damage.

She stormed out of the room Bobby had let her use—not for sleeping, since she’d been kept too busy for that, but at least she’d had a place to change without getting walked in on. Molly wanted an hour or two just for herself—no demons, no angels, no detoxing idiots too stupid to know that drinking demon blood was on the list of Very Bad Things To Do.

And she ran into Dean.

“Hey,” he said, sounding surprised. “I thought you were with Sam.”

“So I can’t have a minute to myself?” she demanded, hearing the edge of hysteria in her own voice and hating it. “What is it with you people?”

His eyes went wide. “Uh…”

“I lost my fucking _job_ because of you!” Molly exploded. “I haven’t slept for more than two hours at a time, I am down to my last clean clothing, and I am somehow involved in a war that’s _none of my damn business_. And it’s all because of you fucking idiots!”

Dean’s momentary surprise turned into anger. “Now wait a damn minute. This is not—”

“_I lost my fucking job because of you_!” she reiterated. Molly resisted punching him only by giving him a hard shove, the action surprising him enough to have him stumbling backwards into the wall. “Is a couple of hours too much to ask for?”

She felt the tears threatening, and ruthlessly suppressed them, not wanting to cry in front of anyone, let alone Dean Winchester.

“I’m sorry?” he tried, sounding bewildered and ready to run, and Molly knew that she hadn’t been successful at hiding her tears.

“Stay out of my fucking way!” she ordered, entering the second floor bathroom and locking the door behind her.

Molly took a deep, wavering breath, stifling the giggle that threatened when she remembered the expression on Dean’s face. She suspected that he wasn’t often lost for words, but he had been then.

She eyed the antique, claw-foot tub, thinking longingly of a warm bubble bath. She didn’t have bubbles, but after digging around under the sink, she located a box of Epsom salts.

That would do.

~~~~~

“What the hell was that about?” Bobby demanded, coming out of Sam’s room to find Dean still standing in the hallway. “Your brother was finally sleeping.”

“Was?”

“Well, Molly’s shouting woke him up. What did you do?”

Dean’s face immediately took on an expression of surprised innocence. “Me? She just went nuts!”

Bobby raised his eyebrows. “Have you thanked her yet?”

“Thanked her for what?”

Bobby groaned. “She was right, boy. You really are a fucking idjit. Sam’s asking for you.”

He headed downstairs, unsurprised to find Castiel seated at the kitchen table, an open book in front of him as he sipped coffee.

“Find anything?” Bobby asked, knowing that Castiel was still attempting to find out what exactly had happened to him, and whether he was falling or had fallen. Bobby had discovered a couple of promising lines of research, but nothing concrete before Dean and his entourage had arrived.

Castiel shook his head. “No. Humans know so little about angels.”

“Can’t argue with you there.” Bobby checked the fridge, making a mental note to go to the grocery store.

And to stock up on chocolate, if only to ensure Molly didn’t kill Dean.

“Is there a reason Dean and Molly were shouting at one another?” Castiel asked, not looking up.

Bobby was surprised that Castiel had allowed Dean out of his sight. He was usually right on Dean’s heels, a constant shadow.

“Dean hasn’t thanked Molly yet.” Bobby pulled a chunk of deer meat out of the freezer.

Castiel frowned. “Thanked her for what?”

Bobby snorted. “You two are certainly a match. People like to be appreciated.”

“We’ve all been working hard.”

Bobby just shook his head, deciding that he didn’t care to attempt an explanation. “Right.”

“How is Sam?”

“Molly said he was stable when she asked me to come in. Thought he might be over the worst of it.”

“That is good news.”

Bobby thought that there was real feeling in Castiel’s voice, and he shook his head again. “Wouldn’t think you’d care about a kid with demon blood.”

“Dean cares about Sam, and I believe Sam can be saved.”

Bobby’s eyebrows went up, but he refrained from commenting. He wondered if Castiel heard the reverence in his own voice when he talked about Dean.

~~~~~

“That was quite the shouting match,” Sam observed.

Dean shrugged. “Hey, don’t look at me. She came out swinging.”

“She just lost her job, Dean, and she hasn’t slept in a week. Give her some slack.”

“Like we get slack?”

Sam raised his eyebrows, a silent reminder that Molly wasn’t a hunter.

Dean sighed. “Yeah. Look, Sam…”

“No.” Sam already knew where this was going. “Don’t, Dean.”

“Bobby got a line on some demon activity, and it’s close—no more than a day and a half away. We need to follow it up, see if we can figure out what Lucifer’s next step is.” Dean refused to meet Sam’s eyes.

“I want to go.”

“You’re not ready.”

“I’m fine.” Sam pushed himself to his feet, concentrating on staying upright.

“You’re shaking,” Dean pointed out.

Sam shook his head. “It’s not that bad. I just need to get something to eat.”

Dean wore the same expression he did every time he was about to say something that Sam was _not_ going to like. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you aren’t going to drink from a bleeding demon, Sam.”

Sam felt the words like a punch to the gut, and he shuddered with sudden need.

“You’re not going alone,” Sam insisted, his voice sounding vehement to his own ears. He swayed a bit, and Dean took his arms to ease him back down on the bed.

“I’m not going alone,” Dean agreed. “Castiel is going with me.”

Sam stared at his shaking hands, bitter rage choking him—not directed at Dean, but at himself. If he hadn’t fallen for Ruby’s tricks, or if he’d stopped drinking her blood when Dean had asked him to, Sam wouldn’t be in this position now.

And now Dean was replacing him with Castiel.

“You’re not being replaced.”

“You reading my mind now?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I know you, Sammy. Look, it’s a quick trip, okay? We’re coming back.”

“Yeah.”

“Bobby’s making dinner if you’re feeling up to it. Might want to get cleaned up as soon as Molly vacates the bathroom.”

“Okay.” Sam lay back on the bed, regret flooding his mind. He had gone along with Ruby’s plan, risking his soul and his life, to save Dean, and now he was just a burden. His place was at Dean’s side, and now someone else was filling that role because he’d been duped.

Sam started when Molly’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Bathroom is free now if you need it.”

“Thanks.” As she turned to go, Sam called her back. “Molly, really—thanks. You went above and beyond.”

A warm smile brought out her dimples and transformed her face. “You’re welcome.”

Sam watched her go, gratitude and attraction drowning out his regret, if only for a moment.


	6. Chapter 6

“Maybe you shouldn’t go,” Sam said, his spoon scraping the bottom of his bowl. “It’s not safe.”

Since Dean had known it was coming, he didn’t even bother trying to argue. “We’re going, Sam.”

“I’m not the one being hunted by heaven and hell,” Sam objected. “You guys could wait a while longer.”

Dean rose for seconds from the stove. “We’re not waiting. Tell him, Bobby.”

“There are some strange things going on in Illinois. I got a call saying that there was a family murdered in a church, including two kids. Plus, there are all the usual signs of demonic activity.”

“Who called?” Sam asked.

“No one you’ve met,” Bobby replied. “Hunter by the name of Ralph. He’s mostly retired now, but he still keeps an ear to the ground.”

Dean cleared his throat. “We’ll stop there first. Sam, Cas found some stuff he thought you might want to look into more.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue, probably ready to protest Dean’s leaving once again, or reiterate his desire to go, but this time Molly spoke up. “Don’t, Sam.”

“What?” Sam stared at her.

“If you want to blame someone for you being left behind, you can blame me. Dean asked me if I would clear you for hunting, and I didn’t.” Molly rose from the table. “Bobby, you have any beer left?”

“In the fridge.”

They all watched her snag one and head out to the back porch, and Dean had to wonder why she’d lied for him. He hadn’t asked her if Sam was okay to hunt; he’d been able to tell that Sam wasn’t ready with his own eyes.

At the same time, her words had ended Sam’s arguments for some reason, and that meant Dean didn’t have to fight with his brother again.

It was in appreciation for that, more than anything else, that had him following her a short time later, bringing a couple of beers along with him.

Dean saw that his timing was about perfect, because Molly was just draining her bottle when he spotted her halfway across the yard, sitting on the hood of her car. Silently, he joined her, offering the second bottle even as he took a swig from his own.

“Thanks.”

Dean kept his eyes on the encroaching darkness. “Don’t mention it.”

After a few minutes of silence, Molly spoke. “Sorry about earlier. I snapped.”

“Sam told me you lost your job.”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t get a chance to thank you yet. For Sam.”

“I’m a nurse, Dean. I wasn’t going to let him die.”

“Would he have?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Molly choked out a laugh. “To tell you the truth, I was making it up as I went along. I’ve never treated anyone for a demon blood addiction before.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, tell me about it.” There was a pause, and he asked, “What are you going to do now?”

Molly thumped her knuckles on the hood of her car. “Well, this hunk o’ junk won’t get me back to Maryland, and according to Bobby, it needs a new engine.”

“According to me,” Dean corrected her. “I passed the information onto Bobby. I’d tell you I’d be happy to rebuild the car, but…”

“But you have an apocalypse to deal with, and my car is low on the list of priorities.”

Dean didn’t bother responding, since she was right. Besides, he really wasn’t sure that the Subaru was worth saving.

“You could fly back and use Ruby’s car.”

“I told my abuela to call the cops and let them know that the car was abandoned on our street.” She shrugged. “It made more sense than getting pulled over with a stolen car.”

Dean coughed. He wouldn’t have worried about that, but then, he was used to skirting the law and bending the rules when necessary. “You could take the bus.”

“The last time I talked to my grandmother, she told me in no uncertain terms not to come home until we’d saved the world.”

Dean stared at her. “Seriously?”

“Well, she wouldn’t turn me away, if that’s what you’re asking, but yeah. She meant it.”

“Your grandma really has a thing for you saving the world.”

“She wants me to use my gifts.” Molly shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll probably see if the local hospital is hiring, then stick around, see what use I can be.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “At the rate people get hurt in this job, I’m certain we’ll need you.”

“It’s nice to be wanted.”

There was something in her voice—loneliness, maybe—that had Dean leaning towards her instinctively. She tilted her head, a smile curving her mouth as their lips met. The kiss was gentle, and it ended quickly.

Molly chuckled when Dean pulled back. “Like kissing my brother.”

“You’ve kissed your brother?”

She smacked him on the arm. “No. I’m trying to say—”

Dean laughed. “It’s like kissing your brother.”

Her eye roll was eloquent. “You know, maybe the lack of sparks between us has something to do with the fact that you’re interested in someone else.”

“And who would that be?” Dean asked, taking a drink of his beer.

“Castiel.”

Dean choked, spraying beer, causing Molly to laugh—loudly.

“I don’t swing that way,” Dean insisted once he’d recovered.

Molly was still laughing. “I was just kidding, although with the way he’s been following you around, I think he might have a crush on you.”

Dean shrugged uncomfortably. “He’s—” Dean had been ready to say that Castiel was a friend, but that didn’t seem to encompass it. “He disobeyed orders for me.”

She grinned broadly. “Sounds like love to me.”

“It’s not like that, and like I said, I don’t swing that way.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Molly said with a mischievous smile, pressing a friendly kiss to his cheek. “Be careful, Dean. I don’t want to patch you up again.”

He watched her walk away, hips swinging provocatively, and he couldn’t help but laugh. She was something else, and he appreciated that.

~~~~~

Castiel froze at the sight of Dean and Molly kissing, feeling the same raw emotion that had coursed through him when Dean had kissed Anna, but more intense this time. It was anger and jealousy and hurt. He’d intended to talk to Dean about some of the research he’d found, but now didn’t seem like an appropriate time.

Still, he couldn’t turn away, listening to Molly’s laughter after she said something that caused Dean to choke on his beer. He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke again, and he watched as she kissed Dean’s cheek and slid off the hood of the car.

As Molly approached him, Castiel instinctively made himself invisible, fading into the darkness. She snorted as she passed him on her way into the house. “You keep forgetting that I can see you.”

When he didn’t reply, she said, “Take care of yourselves, Castiel. I don’t like having to patch up my friends.”

Castiel wanted to ask if she and Dean were _friends_, but he refrained, uncertain of why it was so important.

She went inside the house, and Castiel hesitated before continuing to walk towards Dean. When Castiel’s presence remained unnoticed, he finally broke the silence. “Dean?”

Dean started, nearly sliding off the car. “Cas! Make some noise next time!”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, forget it. I wasn’t paying attention.”

The darkness didn’t interfere with Castiel’s eyesight, and he could see the blush creeping up Dean’s face. “Is there something wrong?”

“What? No! No. I’m fine. What’s up?”

Castiel believed he knew Dean well enough to know when the man was lying, and Dean was definitely lying now. _Something_ was bothering him.

Then again, Castiel also knew Dean well enough to be aware that Dean was not one to talk about his feelings.

“I have been researching, and I believe there may be a way to track Lucifer. Bobby is going to pursue it further while we’re gone.”

“Great. Anything solid?”

“I believe Bobby said it was the ‘usual apocalyptic shit.’”

Dean stared at Castiel and let out a bark of laughter. “I thought you weren’t allowed to curse.”

“I didn’t,” Castiel replied with a perfectly straight face. “Bobby did.”

Dean laughed and shook his head. “Now you’re finding loopholes. You know, I swear you’re getting more and more human all the time.”

“Perhaps I am.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly.”

“Where’s Jimmy in the middle of all this?”

Castiel looked up at the stars as though they held the answers; for all he knew, they did. “Jimmy has been released. His soul is with God.”

“So, it’s just you in there?”

“Yes.” Castiel turned to face him. “Does that matter?”

Dean shook his head. “I guess not.”

Castiel wanted to ask Dean what had just happened between him and Molly, whether they were friends or something more, and why Dean had kissed her—and perhaps what the purpose of kissing was—but he refrained. He suspected that Dean would say that it was none of his business.

Even if he wished it were.

~~~~~

Sam hated being left behind, even if there wasn’t another option. He watched as Dean pulled out of the salvage yard, Castiel in the passenger seat beside him. Dean might have insisted that Sam wasn’t being replaced, but that’s what it felt like.

Then again, he still couldn’t keep food down more than half the time, and his hands were shaking too badly to shoot straight. Maybe Dean was right to replace him.

“You okay?” Bobby’s voice, hoarse with lack of sleep, jolted Sam out of his self-recriminations.

“Yeah. Just thinking. Where’s Molly?”

“She already went into town.” Bobby shot him a look. “She said she checked on you before she went.”

She might have; Sam had been losing time the last week, unsure of what was real and what wasn’t. “I was sleeping until about 15 minutes ago.”

“Feeling better?”

“Getting there.” Sam shoved his hands in his pockets to prevent Bobby from seeing how much they were shaking.

Bobby grunted; he wasn’t fooled. “I’ve got work for you. You can pick up where Dean’s angel left off.”

Sam smirked, knowing how annoyed that appellation for Castiel made Dean. Too bad Dean wasn’t here to hear it. “Sure.”

Opening a dusty old book and following a trail of information was old hat for Sam, and it was something of a relief to go back to what he was good at. At least, something he was good at that had nothing to do with his demon blood.

The information on Lucifer was sparse at best. Sam already knew that the devil was supposed to be one of God’s best and brightest before pride had caused him to fall. Of course, that made the devil a fallen angel of the worst sort.

“Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“Only angels can kill other angels, right?”

“Something like that.”

“So, is that true of _fallen_ angels, too?”

Bobby frowned and took a slow sip of his coffee. “Hell if I know. If the Colt were still around, it might work.”

“Maybe what we need is a way to capture Lucifer,” Sam suggested, “instead of killing him. From what Dean said, killing him would result in Paradise on earth.”

“Paradise sounds pretty damn good to me,” Bobby muttered.

“And if there’s no beer in Paradise?”

“Never mind.”

Sam chuckled, knowing Bobby’s weakness. “Besides, considering that Dean and Castiel risked their lives to avoid bringing about Paradise, we might want to try to avoid it, too.”

“Might be that a Devil’s Trap will work,” Bobby commented.

“The mother of a Devil’s Trap,” was Sam’s rejoinder. “You got a book on that?”

Bobby just gave him a look. “Get to work, boy. You’ve been lazing about long enough.”

But when Bobby rose to refill his coffee cup, he slapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

~~~~~

Dean saw the distaste flash across Castiel’s face when he plugged his favorite Metallica album in.

“Do we have to listen to this?”

Dean told Cas the same thing he’d said to Sam what felt like a lifetime ago. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

“My—cakehole?”

“Your mouth.” Dean flashed a grin. “Those are the rules, Cas. My car, my rules.”

“And if I were to drive?”

“Then you could pick the music, but you’re not going to drive my car.” Dean patted the steering wheel possessively. “Have you ever driven?”

Castiel moved his shoulders in the approximation of a shrug. “It cannot be too difficult; you manage.”

Dean’s eyebrows went up. “Okay, _that_ was a good shot. What’s crawled up your ass?”

“There is nothing up my ass, Dean.”

Dean had a sneaking suspicion that Castiel knew exactly what he’d meant and he was being deliberately obtuse. “Nothing except for the giant stick I thought you’d pulled out.”

The silence that followed his comment was one of the most uncomfortable Dean had experienced—and that was saying something. Then again, he already knew that Castiel could say more in five minutes of silence than most people could in a full day.

Dean focused on the road and getting to where they needed to go. If Castiel wanted to be a dick—well, Dean would deal with it. Sam had been a pissy passenger often enough in the past that Dean was well used to uncomfortable silences and bitch faces.

“Why did you kiss Molly?”

The question came out of nowhere, and Dean glanced over at him in surprise. “What?”

“You kissed Molly. I’d like to know why.”

He shrugged, unable to answer the question. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You treat it so casually.”

There was no mistaking the disapproval in Castiel’s voice now. “Treat what casually? It was a kiss, Cas.”

“That’s my point.”

Dean wasn’t about to confess that Molly had said it was like kissing her brother. “And why should you care? We’re friends; it was a friendly kiss.”

Castiel muttered something that Dean couldn’t quite catch. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Castiel turned to stare out the window.

Dean sighed. “Fine.”

He was almost relieved when his cell phone rang about fifteen minutes later. “Yeah, Sam?”

“How’s the drive so far?”

“Quiet.”

“That’s good,” Sam said cautiously.

Dean laughed. “Yeah, real good. What’s up?”

“Ask Cas if we could build a Devil’s Trap good enough to trap Lucifer.”

Dean relayed the question, and a thoughtful crease formed between Castiel’s brows. “I do not know. It’s possible, but what would we do with him, even if we caught him?”

“Send him back to hell?” Sam suggested on the phone.

Dean repeated the question, and Castiel responded, “If possible, that may be best. The prophecy states that when Dean kills Lucifer, that will usher in Paradise.”

“Which we don’t want,” Dean stated.

“Tell Sam that I believe I may know where to start looking, if he’ll research methods of sending demons back to hell.”

“Did you get that?”

“Yeah, Bobby’s got some texts marked that might help.” Sam paused. “Molly got a job in Sioux Falls. Apparently there’s a shortage of nurses, and when she told them that a family emergency brought her into town and that she’d be staying, they pretty much hired her on the spot.”

“Good for Molly,” Dean replied noncommittally. “I’m sure we’ll be able to use her.”

“Something going on between you two?”

“No, Sam. How many times do I have to say it?”

“If I recall correctly, this is the first time I’ve asked.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Is something going on between you and Cas?”

“What?”

“Come on, Dean. He took on the archangels for you.”

“I can’t talk about this right now,” Dean hissed.

Sam laughed, and Dean realized that he’d unwittingly confirmed Sam’s suspicions—or Sam thought he had. “Be careful, Dean.”

Dean heard a dial tone before he could make a snappy comeback. “Damn.”

“Molly is staying.”

“She saved our lives, Castiel. What the hell is your problem?” Something finally clicked. “Oh, no. Oh, hell no.”

Castiel seemed to sense that he’d caught on. “Dean—”

Dean could feel the heat rising in his face, and he couldn’t quite believe the words that came out of his mouth next. “We’re not talking about this now—or ever—but just so we can all get along, there aren’t any sparks there. Molly and I are friends, and that’s all we’re going to be.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Castiel staring at his hands, splayed out on his legs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Dean sighed; it just figured that he’d get saddled with a gay angel. “Look, let’s just focus on the job, okay? That’s what’s important.”

“Of course.”

And now Castiel resembled a kicked puppy. Shit. “You want to pick the music?”

It was the only offer he could make under the circumstances. Castiel gave him a small smile in reply. “Perhaps I’ll get used to Metallica.”

Dean shook his head and popped the tape out. “We’ll start you out slow with Led Zeppelin, ease you into it.”

If anyone _could_ ease an angel into classic rock.


	7. Chapter 7

Molly hummed as she chopped the tomatoes for dinner. As crazy as the last week had been, things were definitely looking up. Sam was back on his feet, she had a new job, and tonight they would actually eat a decent meal.

“What’s all that?” Sam asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest.

“Food.” She smiled. “Don’t just stand there. Start the salad.”

“Salad?”

“You guys may be able to survive on meat and potatoes, but I like a little green in my diet.”

Sam smiled, slow and sweet. “So do I. I’m just not used to it.” He did as she asked, though, pulling the vegetables and lettuce out of the bag. “What brought this on?”

“What can I say? I’m in a good mood, and I thought I’d treat you guys. Besides, it’s my turn.”

Sam laughed. “I’d agree with you, but that would mean it’s my turn coming up.”

“And you can’t cook?”

Sam shrugged. “I grew up in motel rooms, and Dean did most of the cooking, usually out of a can.”

“You’re lucky to have him.”

“Yeah, I know.”

A companionable silence fell, and Sam followed her directions as she showed him how to make the simple pasta dish. “See? Cooking isn’t so hard.”

“I guess not.” Sam cleared his throat. “Those stories you told me. They were true?”

Molly took a deep breath. “To be honest, I thought you’d be too out of it to remember.”

“Molly—”

“It was all true, Sam. I wouldn’t make stuff like that up.”

Sam frowned. “Does Dean know?”

“Your brother and I had a 20 hour drive out here, so yeah. We talked some.”

“And you and he are—”

She smiled. “We’re friends. It’s been awhile since I had one of those.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“What about Ruby?”

She could see him swallow. “How did you know about her?”

“You talked a lot while you were detoxing.”

“Have I said thank you yet?”

“Yeah, but feel free to say it again.”

“Thanks.”

Molly shrugged and stirred the sauce. “I’m a nurse, Sam. It’s what I do.”

Sam grabbed her arm. “No. Not everyone would do what you did, leaving your entire life—”

She tried to shake off his gratitude. “It wasn’t much of a life.”

“Molly—”

“I start over every couple of years, you know? I just moved on a little quicker this time around.” She turned to face him. “Seriously, Sam. Don’t mention it.”

He shrugged. “Okay. There has to be something I can do for you to return the favor, though.”

“Tell you what. You can give me a back rub.”

Sam snorted. “Wait. You’re serious?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I had a good back rub?” Molly gave him a wicked smile. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

Sam shook his head. “No, not at all.”

“Great! After dinner, then.” Molly went back to her sauce, and tried to hide her smirk. She had seen Sam Winchester’s hands, and she had a feeling that he could do a lot for the knots in her neck and back.

It was just _quid pro quo_. She helped him; Sam helped her, and everyone was happy.

~~~~~

“If you want the shower, I left you some hot water.”

Castiel kept his eyes glued to the ceiling of the hotel room, avoiding the sight of Dean with a towel slung low around his waist. They had a half a day’s drive to get to the site of the purported demon activity, and Castiel wished with all his heart that he could transport the two of them.

But he didn’t have unlimited sources of energy, not cut off from the host as he was, and instantaneous transport could draw unwanted attention. As Dean had pointed out, the Impala was rigged to deal with demons and angels, and Dean could do the ritual blessing on whatever motel room they stayed in, but they needed to fly below the radar, so to speak.

“Cas?”

“I don’t need a shower.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” Castiel heard clothing rustle. “Hot showers are one of God’s gifts, man.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“Dean.” Castiel tried to convey his displeasure in his tone of voice; he wanted a serious answer for once.

There was a long pause. “I don’t know what the hell I believe in right now, other than you, me, Sam and Bobby.”

Castiel sat up to face Dean, who sat perched on the edge of the other bed. The chipped green paint of the walls clashed with the purple-splashed bedspread, and Castiel wondered idly if this was a part of the world Dean thought worth fighting for.

Dean looked away, and Castiel realized he’d taken too long to answer, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. “Thank you, Dean.”

“You risked falling for me. That means a lot.”

Castiel hesitated before saying, “I may yet fall.”

Dean swallowed. “If you do, you’ve got a place.”

“Thank you,” he repeated.

“Get some sleep if you don’t want a shower,” Dean said. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Castiel watched as Dean burrowed under the covers, wearing only boxers and a t-shirt. The longing that filled him was unfamiliar only in the sense that Castiel had previously experienced it only with regard to seeing his Father’s face.

It wasn’t the same, but it frightened him.

Slowly removing the trench coat that he’d restored, then his suit jacket and tie, Castiel stretched out on the bed once again.

He thought, perhaps, that he already knew how this was going to end. Angels who disobeyed direct orders fell from grace or were cast down.

It was only a matter of time.

~~~~~

Sam couldn’t quite believe how he’d gotten roped into this; not that he didn’t owe Molly, but there was something about giving a girl a back rub that didn’t feel platonic.

Then again, she was an attractive woman, and he was interested in more than just friendship—it was one of the reasons he’d asked Dean whether he was into her.

“You can get started anytime,” Molly said, her voice muffled by the comforter.

Sam took a deep breath, willing his body not to respond. “Uh, sure. Sorry.”

He began rubbing her shoulders gently. “Harder, Sam. I’m not going to break.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just dig in.”

Sam took a deep breath and began pressing harder, digging his fingers into tight shoulder muscles. “You have some knots here.”

She groaned. “Tell me about it.”

Sam used his thumb to press on a particularly deep knot. “That okay?”

He took her grunt as an assent and kept going. Sam had perched on the side of the bed, but the angle was all wrong. With an internal sigh, Sam threw his leg over her, straddling her hips, careful not to touch her.

Molly let out another groan as he moved his hands down to her lower back. “God, yes.”

The sound went straight to his groin, and Sam winced, trying to think of anything unsexy—like Bobby in a tutu. That would do it.

“You have amazing hands,” Molly muttered into the bedclothes, her muscles relaxing under his fingers. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to keep this going forever.”

Sam could think of a few things, but all of them required interrupting the back rub, and none were activities he would suggest to a girl before they’d even had their first date. “I figure I owe you, so all you have to do is ask,” he finally said, praying that the constant arousal wouldn’t kill him.

“Where have you been all my life?”

Sam thought that was probably a rhetorical question, so he just bore down harder on Molly’s tense muscles, and he didn’t stop until his hands were ready to give out. He thought she’d gone to sleep, and he rose to leave the room quietly when she called out, “Thank you, Sam.”

“No big deal,” he assured her, hoping that she didn’t notice how big of a deal it had been.

The sparkle in her eyes suggested that Molly knew exactly what she was doing to him. “You’re a good man, Sam Winchester.”

He ducked his head. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew everything I’d done.”

“We do what we have to do to survive,” she responded. “And to protect the people we love.”

Sam nodded. “I think I’m going to bed.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

Sam wished he could just ask her out, but he remembered Ruby, and how she’d played him, and what they had done to the nurse. Molly deserved better than someone like him.

~~~~~

The chalked outline of bodies were still clear on the floor, and Dean could still see where the pools of blood had formed under the bodies. Making a father kill his wife and children before he killed himself… It was sick.

“There’s been some serious demon activity here, all right,” Dean murmured, rising from his kneeling position next to the largest outline, rubbing the trace of sulfur between finger and thumb. “Can you sense anything?”

Castiel looked around the abandoned church. “They desecrated this place with the destruction of innocence.”

“Any reason why?”

“Because they could.”

Dean heard the anger in Cas’ voice. “Watch it, Cas. You’re getting emotional.”

“This was my Father’s house.”

“It still is, right?”

Castiel shook his head. “This place will never be the same. The darkness here cannot be cleansed.”

“So, now what?”

Castiel paced towards the front of the church and the altar. “I believe they were looking for something.”

“Something like what?”

“How should I know?”

Dean raised his eyebrows; Castiel sounded seriously pissy, and Dean strode towards him. “What the hell has gotten into you, man?”

Castiel tensed. “Forgive me, Dean. I am uncertain, and I do not like it.”

Dean shrugged and patted Castiel on the shoulder. “We all have bad days. You know what you need? A beer.”

A smile tugged at Castiel’s lips. “That seems to be your answer to everything, Dean.”

“You can’t go wrong with beer.”

“I prefer wine.” Dean whirled when he heard the deep voice behind them, cursing himself for not hearing the stranger’s approach. “Hello, Castiel.”

The man standing there was shorter than Dean, and had a stockier build and olive skin. He was also unmistakably an angel; there was a sense of power radiating off of him that Dean had never felt before.

“Tzadqiel.” Castiel inclined his head courteously. Dean wished he had some angel banishing mojo, because as far as he was concerned, the only decent one of the lot was Cas, and the others were all out to get him.

The only thing he could do was place himself between Cas and the other angel. “What do you want?” Dean demanded

“Dean.” Castiel put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Tzadqiel is the angel of mercy. He is not here to kill me.”

“Castiel is correct. I am not here to cause you any harm, Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah, I know. You guys need me to kill Lucifer, but that doesn’t mean you won’t go after Cas.”

“We have no desire to harm Castiel either; we are more concerned that you not kill Lucifer. Now is not the time to usher in Paradise. It was not part of the plan.”

“What the fuck is with you guys?” Dean demanded, unable to hold in his anger. “All you do is show up and make cryptic pronouncements. What about Zachariah? He was all about the apocalypse.”

He heard the small sound of dismay that Castiel made behind him, but Dean wasn’t about to hold back. “Well?”

“There is a way to trap Lucifer.” Tzadqiel was apparently going to ignore Dean’s questions. “But this is not a task we can help you with.” He looked at Castiel, now ignoring Dean completely. “There is a war in heaven, brother. We were unaware of Zachariah’s plan, and we are taking steps to counteract it now, but we are divided.”

“Am I needed?”

Dean’s heart sank as he thought about the possibility of losing Cas now.

“I believe you are needed here,” Tzadqiel replied, a twinkle in his eye that Dean couldn’t quite identify. “Forgive us, Castiel, Dean. We were not present in your time of need.”

Tzadqiel was gone a moment later, and Dean whirled to face Castiel. “What the hell was that?”

“Let’s not talk about this here.” Castiel began to talk towards the front doors. “I don’t think it’s safe.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, and where are we going to be safe? What did he mean about Zachariah, and a war in heaven?”

“Not here, Dean.” Castiel grabbed his arm, and suddenly they were outside, standing by the car. “When I make a request, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t argue.”

“I argue, Cas. That’s what I do.” Dean waved him to the passenger seat. “Let’s go, then, if you’re going to be a dick about it.”

Dean drove them to the nearest bar he’d noted on the way to the church.

“Here?” Castiel asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Beer, remember?” Dean ignored Castiel’s sigh and headed inside. It was a hole-in-the-wall, the dim lighting unable to mask the sticky floor and tables scarred with age, but the beers were cheap. Dean bought two bottles and made his way to the corner table that Castiel had snagged. He’d convinced Castiel to leave the trench coat and suit jacket in the car, which was a good thing. They stood out enough already.

Castiel took a cautious sip from his bottle, grimacing when he put it back down on the table. “It’s interesting.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Dean took a long draught. “What was that about, Cas?”

“Tzadqiel is the angel of mercy, as I said. He and Jophiel accompany Michael into battle.” Castiel tilted his head. “I believe it was Michael’s voice I heard, calling the others off.”

“So what does that mean for us?”

“We are being hunted by a faction, but not all of the archangels.”

Dean read between the lines easily enough. “How do we know which ones we can trust?”

Castiel moved his shoulders in the approximation of a shrug. “We don’t.”

“Then how do we know what’s-his-face is right?”

Castiel’s lips tilted upwards. “We don’t.”

Dean picked at the label of his beer bottle. “Damn it, Cas. I don’t even know where the hell to start.”

“I believe we need to discover what the demons were searching for, and then we need to find a way to trap Lucifer.” Castiel took another cautious sip. “The death of the family leads me to believe that the demons wished to counteract a powerful protection, and the sooner we stop Lucifer, the better. The shedding of innocent blood is the easiest way to destroy those protections.”

“You really think that’s the way to go? Trapping Lucy?”

Castiel stared down at the table, ignoring his nearly untouched beer. “You said it yourself, Dean, and you heard what Tzadqiel said. Now is not the time to get creative; if we keep some of the archangels on our side, we should.”

“I thought you said that we didn’t know if we can trust him.”

“We don’t know for certain, but I believe we can trust Tzadqiel.”

Dean stared at Castiel for a moment, then shook his head. “Okay, Cas. If you think we can trust that guy, then that’s what we’ll do. Sammy’s already working on building a better Devil’s Trap.”

Castiel stared at him, something akin to wonder in his eyes. When he didn’t blink or turn away, Dean finally became uncomfortable enough to ask, “What?”

“You trust me?”

Dean swallowed, wishing that the question didn’t feel as important as it did. “Yeah, Cas. I trust you.”

Castiel’s pleased smile caused Dean’s face to flush, feeling like a kid again when his first crush had smiled at him in just that way—pleased and proprietary.

This was going to mean trouble.


	8. Chapter 8

Molly caught Sam eyeing her cup of coffee hopefully. “There’s more in the kitchen,” she said firmly.

He gestured at the piles of books and papers on the table. “I’m a little busy.”

“And your legs aren’t broken.” She took a seat between Bobby and Sam, smirking. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Get me a cup of coffee?”

Molly knew she’d asked for it, but at this point, it was the principle of the thing. “Legs? Broken?”

“Go take a break, Sam,” Bobby ordered. “You’ve been up all night.”

Sam sighed and pouted for a moment before he did as he was told.

“You read Latin?” Bobby asked.

Molly shook her head. “Sorry, no, not fluently.”

“Try this one, then.” Bobby shoved a heavy book across the table at her. “We’re looking for anything on trapping demons or angels.”

“Angels?” Molly queried.

“Lucifer’s technically still an angel,” Bobby explained. “Even if he’s a fallen one.”

Molly hummed her agreement and took a sip of coffee, flipping open the front cover. It had been a long time since Molly had been required to do any sort of research; the last time was when she had been looking for ways to prevent demon possession. Sam reappeared a moment later with a mug of his own, and sat back down without a word.

She hadn’t gotten very far when she felt a pair of eyes on her. Looking up, she caught Sam hurriedly turning back to his book, the tips of his ears turning pink. Molly raised her eyebrows and went back to her text.

The research was interesting, but not so fascinating that it prevented her from feeling Sam’s eyes on her again. Molly tried to ignore the feeling of being stared at, but the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She used the movement of pulling her hair back into a ponytail with the elastic around her wrist as an excuse to look up.

She caught Sam watching her this time. “Something wrong?”

Sam flushed again. “No. Sorry.”

Molly shook her head. “Okay.”

Bobby made a disgusted sound, but all he said was, “I think I know what those demons were looking for. Sounds like there was some sort of holy relic there that’s supposed protect a place from demonic influence.”

“It didn’t do a very good job, did it?” Molly asked.

Bobby shook his head. “No, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t work. It also gives us an idea of what the demons are after: anything that could protect people.”

“That makes sense.” Sam leaned back in his chair. “There have to be plenty of objects like that, Bobby. How are we supposed to know which one they’re going to hit next?”

“Why not ask one of them?” Molly suggested, mostly kidding.

Bobby, however, seemed to be taking her suggestion seriously, and Sam put his book down on the table. “Why not?” Sam asked. “We’ve done it before, but luring one in isn’t going to be easy.”

Molly didn’t much like the way Bobby was looking at her. “They wouldn’t know Molly,” Bobby observed.

“Wouldn’t know me, how?”

“I doubt a demon is going to come if Dean or I summon it,” Sam explained. “Probably the same for Bobby. They don’t trust that we’re not going to kill them.”

Molly shuddered. “So, let me get this straight. You want to build a Devil’s Trap to lure in a demon, so you can ask it where Lucifer’s next stop is. Then, once you figure that out, you can build an even bigger, better Devil’s Trap to trap the devil himself.”

“That’s about right,” Bobby replied evenly.

Molly blinked, unsure whether that was either the stupidest or bravest thing she’d ever heard; the plan definitely put her a little too close to the action, however. “And you want me to summon the demon?”

“You’re the only one who can.” Sam sounded apologetic. “You’ll have the Devil’s Trap, and we’ll be there.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel a hell of a lot better,” Molly shot back.

“You might want to look at this.” Bobby slapped the newspaper in front of her, and the front page headline had Molly clapping a hand over her mouth.

She had been too busy at the hospital the night before to pay attention to the news, although she’d caught hushed whispers and horrified expressions on her way out. This would explain it.

In two-inch high letters, Molly read, “TWELVE CHILDREN KILLED IN PAROCHIAL SCHOOL SHOOTING.”

She skimmed the article quickly, feeling anger rise up. “A priest?”

“Demons have possessed priests before,” Sam said softly.

Molly couldn’t decide which was worse: knowing what was happening, knowing that the priest—who had committed suicide—wasn’t responsible for his own actions, or if it would have been easier to think that humans were just that evil.

“What else?” she asked hoarsely.

Bobby shrugged. “Hard to say. That one has ‘demon’ written all over it, though. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes between human atrocities and demon activity.”

“Don’t I know it,” she murmured. Molly ran her fingers over the text, thinking of the parents of those children. She was involved now, whether she wanted to be or not, and her grandmother had been right; Molly couldn’t allow her talents to go to waste.

She took a deep breath. “Just tell me what I need to do.” Molly rose from the table. “But if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to catch a few hours of sleep.”

As she walked out of the room, Sam called out to her. “Molly!”

“What?” She didn’t turn around.

“I’m sorry.”

Molly didn’t respond, too busy thinking about the last time she was face-to-face, up close and personal with a demon.

~~~~~

“So, Bobby thinks the artifact was used to ward off demons,” Dean said, tucking his cell phone back into his pocket. “He’s going to do a search for any other artifacts in the area that might be targeted.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to do some research of our own.” Dean sighed. “I wish Sammy were here. We could put him on it.”

“I believe I would enjoy research.” Castiel had never needed to look up information before, but he no longer had access to the knowledge of the host. Still, he had always enjoyed learning, observing and storing away information.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “That makes one of us.”

The library felt like a church to Castiel; there was a reverent silence that seemed to embrace him. “This feels like a sacred place,” he whispered.

“Sam would agree with you,” Dean murmured in reply. “Come on.”

Castiel accepted the stack of old books, each full of old newspapers. “What are we looking for?” he asked, keeping his voice down.

“Anything that would give us an idea about religious relics in the area: miracles, stories about churches getting new stuff, whatever.” Dean shrugged. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

Castiel began paging through the newspapers slowly, careful not to tear the brittle pages. Most of the stories were commonplace—births, deaths, accidents and petty crimes. The town was a small one, and the news reflected that. Nothing stood out to him, however, and he began to wonder if they would be able to find what they needed.

“There isn’t anything here,” Dean finally said, shoving his book away. “We need Sam and his computer.”

“Perhaps Sam can teach me?” Castiel suggested. Dean’s expression shifted subtly, but Castiel knew how Dean’s mind worked. “I don’t want to replace your brother, Dean.”

“I know. It’s just—you know. It’s been me and Sam for so long, it’s weird having someone else around.”

Castiel wanted to tell him that it wouldn’t just be him and Sam forever, but Dean would only be angered by the observation. Dean’s greatest fear was to be alone, and Castiel refused to exacerbate that.

~~~~~

It didn’t take Sam long to put together a list of likely targets for Lucifer and his minions to strike next, if Lucifer was indeed going after religious relics that might protect the owners from demonic interference. The problem was that they were scattered all over the world, and it was impossible to know which one might be next.

When his phone rang, Sam picked it up absently. “Yeah?”

“We’re on our way home,” Dean announced. “We struck out here.”

“I’m putting a list of targets together,” Sam replied. “And Molly has volunteered to summon a demon so we can interrogate it.”

“Good for Molly,” Dean replied. “We also got a visit from an angel.”

“Other than Cas?”

Dean’s silence answered the question.

“What angel?”

“Tzadqiel.”

“Who now?”

“The angel of mercy.”

“So, I’m guessing he didn’t come after you guys.”

“He said now was not the time to kill Lucifer, and that there was a way to trap him and send him back to hell.” What Dean said next was muffled, but Sam could tell that he was talking to someone else. “Sorry. Had to order Cas another drink.”

Sam blinked. “What? How many drinks has he had?”

Dean’s grin was actually audible. “Five.”

“Dean! Don’t get the angel drunk!”

“What? He was pissy.”

“He’s an angel!”

“Have you made a move on Molly yet?”

Sam choked. “What?”

“Hey, you asked if I had any interest, dude.”

“So?”

“So, you wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t have any interest yourself.”

Sam acknowledged that Dean had a point. “No. I’m taking it slow, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see you in a couple of days.”

Sam hung up and went back to his books and the list of artifacts. He felt a moment of resentment towards Castiel, then squelched it. It wasn’t Cas’ fault that he’d benched.

“Was that your brother?”

“Yeah.” Sam looked up to see Molly standing there, Bobby just behind her. “I have a list. We’ll have to go over them with Dean and Cas when they get back.”

Molly eyed him. “Bobby, keep an eye on the oven for me, would you?”

“Sure.” Bobby gave her a thoughtful look. “New junker came in today. You might want to have a look at it.”

“Come on, Sam.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him up and outside.

Sam couldn’t help but remember the last girl he’d touched, although it hadn’t been nearly so innocent. That thought sent a fresh wave of guilt through him, and Sam nearly tried to break free—but Molly’s hand was warm, and her grip was firm, and he followed her outside in spite of his best intentions.

“Have a seat.”

He sat on the hood of the totaled car; the rear end was folded up into the backseat. “How was work?”

“Not bad. It was a quiet night.”

A long pause followed. “Molly?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you ever want to get a cup of coffee with me?”

“Someday, I might even want to sleep with you.”

Sam couldn’t help the double take he did. “Huh?”

Molly grinned at him. “You’re hot, you’re smart, and you have great hands. Why wouldn’t I sleep with you?”

He blinked. “But you know…”

“Yeah. I know.” Molly forced a smile. “We’ve all made our share of mistakes.”

“I _killed_ someone.”

“You talked about it.”

“What didn’t I talk about?”

“What kind of music do you like?” Molly asked.

Sam’s eyebrows went up. “Seriously?”

“Sam, we’re in the middle of the apocalypse. If now isn’t the time to start dating, I don’t know when it would be.” She bumped him with her shoulder. “Seriously.”

Sam stared down at his hands. “Okay.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

He laughed. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Please do.”

Sam brought his lips to hers and found her mouth warm and willing under his. He kept it short and sweet, not wanting to push too hard, too soon.

When Sam pulled back, he immediately saw Molly’s grin and her deep dimples. Sam’s answering smile felt almost foreign on his face, and he pulled her in close.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel hadn’t been able to finish his beer, so Dean had finished it for him, then tried him out on whiskey. After one sip, Castiel had pushed it across the table towards Dean with a grimace that Dean couldn’t help but laugh at.

From that point on, Dean had made it his mission to find an alcoholic drink that Castiel liked. Castiel deemed the cranberry and vodka passable, and he drank all of it. Dean ordered him a pineapple juice and rum next, which Cas drank enthusiastically. When he asked for another, Dean couldn’t help but comply.

“It would figure that you’d like the chick drinks,” Dean muttered, ordering another beer for himself and a piña colada for Cas.

“Why do you call it that?”

“Because only girls drink those.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Is this one of those things that you insist makes a real man?”

“It does,” Dean protested, taking their drinks from the waitress with a grin and a wink. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

She smiled at him and put a hand down on the table next to his, sliding a piece of paper under his palm. “You’re welcome,” she replied, leaning down to give him a better view of her breasts.

Dean pocketed the number smoothly.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you do that?”

“Why do I do what?”

“You flirt with women; you treat sex casually. Do you think it’s safe for you to have sex with random women?”

Dean sighed. “Cas—”

“Do you?”

In truth, Dean hadn’t given it much thought, nor had he seriously considered sleeping with the girl. He couldn’t ditch Cas the way he would have Sam. “I wasn’t going to call her, Cas.”

“Why do you do it?”

Dean wanted to ask why he was the one to get stuck explaining sex to an angel. “It’s—it’s hard to explain. It feels good. You can forget about all the shit for a while.”

Castiel’s silence felt heavy and judgmental. “Look,” Dean finally said. “You knew what you were getting when you pulled me out of hell. I’m no hero, and I’m no saint.”

“You’re no saint,” Castiel agreed. “But you _are_ a hero, Dean. And sainthood is not required. I would not have you be anything other than what you are.”

Taken aback by the sincerity in Cas’ tone, Dean began picking at the label on his bottle. “Yeah, well…” He pounded back the beer, suddenly ready to leave. “Let’s get out of here.”

Castiel offered no argument, leaving his own drink half-finished on the table as Dean rose to leave, throwing enough money on the table to cover them.

Dean was steady on his feet as he walked out; he hadn’t wanted to get drunk, not when trouble was coming from all sides—and not when Cas wasn’t completely up to full power.

Dean unlocked the door to the hotel room and allowed Cas to precede him inside. “So, you gonna try to sleep tonight, or are you not tired?”

“I’m not tired, no.”

“Yeah, okay. Well, I’m going to bed.”

“Sleep well, Dean,” Castiel said solemnly, sitting down on the bed nearest the door. “I do not mind keeping watch.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean draped his jacket over the chair in the room and toed off his boots, glancing over his shoulder at Castiel, finding a pair of blue eyes fixed on him. “You ever wondered about it?”

“About what?”

“Sex.”

The only sign of emotion was the flare of Castiel’s nostrils. “Yes, I’ve thought about it.”

“I guess you wouldn’t want another reason to fall, huh?”

“There are good reasons to fall, Dean.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah?”

He had forgotten how quickly Castiel could move when he wanted. Cas’ lips were firm and inexpert, but Dean found himself responding in spite of his best intentions.

Dean broke away after a moment, staring at Castiel, his emotions roiling. He had no idea how to respond, or how to feel.

“I can’t do this, Cas. This isn’t me.”

Castiel nodded. “I understand.”

“I’m going to bed.” Dean had never gotten ready for bed so quickly in his life, but even after the lights were off and silence had fallen over the room, sleep was hard to come by.

~~~~~

Bobby took a long swallow of his coffee and glanced out the window at the sound of tires on the driveway. Dean was the first out of the car, and he slammed the door behind him, Castiel following more slowly.

“Dean?” Bobby called as Dean entered the house. “Any trouble?”

“No. Is Sam here?”

“He went for a walk with Molly.” Bobby followed Dean back to the kitchen. “She has to leave for work soon. If you’re hungry, there’s leftovers.”

Dean spun around. “When did we get leftovers?”

“Molly’s been cooking.” Bobby refilled his mug. “Not bad, either.”

Dean stuck his head in the fridge and found the pan of leftover lasagna easily. “Smells good.”

Bobby didn’t reply, taking another sip of coffee.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice was tentative.

“Not now, Cas. I’m going to get something to eat.”

Castiel backed out of the room without response, and Bobby watched Dean’s tense shoulders for a moment before following Castiel.

“I want you to take a look at something,” Bobby called, spotting Castiel standing in the middle of the hallway, arms hanging limp as though he didn’t know what to do with himself. “Sam found some interesting information, and he said he wanted your opinion.”

“Of course.” Castiel followed Bobby into the study, taking the hard copy of Sam’s research and sitting down at the cluttered table. Castiel frowned and began flipping through the pages hurriedly. “This is what Sam found?”

“Yeah. Something ringing a bell?”

“Perhaps.” Castiel wouldn’t say more than that, instead continuing to flip through pages, back and forth, not even looking up when the front door opened.

Sam and Molly entered the study hand in hand, Molly laughing about something. “Hi, Castiel,” Molly said. “How’s it going?”

Castiel didn’t even look up, and Sam glanced at Bobby. “Is Dean home?”

Bobby nodded. “Just got back a little bit ago. He’s in the kitchen.”

Sam whispered something into Molly’s ear, and she smiled at him as he left the room to find his brother. She sat down at the table across from Castiel, but kept her silence. Castiel continued to flip through the pages, back and forth, while Bobby sipped his coffee and kept watch.

Bobby could hear the low voices from the kitchen, and he wondered if Sam would have any more luck getting Dean to talk than he had.

“I know how to trap Lucifer,” Castiel announced, looking up.

“That’s news worth hearing.” Bobby rose. “I’ll get the others.”

~~~~~

Sam watched as Castiel sketched out what looked like a Devil’s Trap on steroids. “The problem with trapping Lucifer has always been that he was originally an angel,” Castiel explained. “We will need more than a Devil’s Trap.”

“So, what’s that you got there?” Bobby asked.

“This will work against both demons and angels,” Castiel replied. “And these artifacts provide the necessary power to drive him back to hell and trap him there.”

“That’s why Lucifer is sending demons after those items.” Sam leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We need to get to them first.”

“No shit,” Dean muttered. “We’ll split up. If we each go after one of them—”

“No way, Dean,” Sam objected. “Not with angels and demons after us. No one goes alone.”

Bobby peered at the list. “I can take care of the one in Minnesota. I have a friend who can watch my back.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Molly has a couple of days off coming off.” He looked over at her. “Would you want to take a road trip to Kansas?”

“Let Molly and Cas take care of that one,” Dean suggested. “We’ll drive out to the other two.”

Sam frowned. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for Cas to transport you to those since they’re farther away?” He looked at Cas. “You can still do the instant transportation thing, right?”

“Yes. I can, although the power must be used judiciously.”

“Good. You can take Molly, then,” Dean said, jumping in. “We’ll take the one in Kansas and the one in Texas.”

Sam frowned, unable to figure out why Dean would want to avoid Castiel, since it was pretty damn obvious that’s what he was trying to do. “Dean—”

“Think you can handle that, Cas?”

“Yes, I do.” Castiel’s expression was perfectly blank.

Molly cleared her throat. “I’d better head out; I’ll be late for work otherwise. Castiel? You want to leave first thing tomorrow morning?”

“I believe that would be wise.”

“Come to the hospital to pick me up, then.” Molly gave him an encouraging smile, then leaned down to give Sam a peck on the lips. “Call me.”

“Sure thing.” Sam watched her leave, his eyes fixed on her ass and the sway of her hips until Dean smacked him on the chest. “What?”

“We have work to do. Ogle your girlfriend later.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What has you in such a shitty mood, Dean?”

“None of your damn business.” Dean slumped in his seat. “We just have a lot to do, that’s all.”

Sam rolled his eyes and looked over at Castiel, who was staring at Dean with an expression of longing. Frowning, Sam glanced at Dean, who was studiously avoiding Castiel’s gaze. From past experience, he knew that Dean was not going to talk about it.

That just meant Sam would have to wait until later before he grilled Dean.

~~~~~

Molly tucked her hands into her jacket pockets, staring down at the toes of her Crocs. Sam had made fun of her shoes, but as she had pointed out, she’d rather be comfortable than fashionable.

“Are you ready?” Castiel’s deep voice startled her out of her thoughts.

“Ready to be transported halfway across the country to steal religious artifacts that may or may not allow us to stuff Lucifer back in hell?” Molly smiled sarcastically. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Castiel didn’t respond, merely raised his eyebrows.

“Where to first?” Molly asked.

“Manhattan, and the Church of Saint Ignatius of Loyola. There is a crucifix used by Saint Ignatius to cast out demons.”

“New York, huh?” Molly shrugged. “I guess we might as well get it over with.”

“Do you not like New York?”

Molly shrugged. “Let’s just say that I didn’t have great experiences there. Let’s get going.” Two fingers pressed firmly on her forehead, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were standing on a busy New York street.

“I could get used to traveling this way.”

“Don’t.”

Glancing over, Molly could see the faintest sign of a smile on Castiel’s lips, and she grinned at him. “You’re getting better at that.”

His shoulders twitched in the approximation of a shrug, and Molly turned to look up at the edifice rising before them. “This is it, huh?”

“This is it.”

Molly pushed the heavy bronze doors open slowly, taking in the architecture—the arches and marble floor, the iconography and columns. Whatever her feelings about God, the Church had always been a sanctuary.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is. There is a sense of peace here that is hard to feel other places.”

“Do you really think this was a cross used by St. Ignatius?”

“Does it matter? Faith gives great power to those who believe.”

“That would assume Molly dear has any faith to speak of.”

Molly whirled, terror filling her. She knew that voice, and when she saw the man standing in the doorway, she backpedaled right into one of the pews. Castiel moved in front of her, whether to block the man’s view or for Molly’s protection, she wasn’t sure. “You’re not welcome here.”

“You know, I don’t see why I wouldn’t be. I am a minister of the gospel, after all.” The smile that Michael Andrews wore was as familiar to Molly as her own.

Molly wanted to protest, to tell Andrews that he was nothing but a demon, but the words were stuck in her throat. Brother Andrews, as he’d insisted on being called, had been the reason she’d researched demons in the first place, the reason for her tattoo, and the wards on her house and car. He was the reason she’d never had a real relationship with a man.

He was the reason her life had gone to shit, and she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.

Castiel took another step toward Brother Andrews, his arm outstretched, but Andrews simply smirked.

“They really sent the littlest angel for this?” he asked. “You’re the one who screwed up and didn’t pull that Winchester boy out of hell in time, right? And the archangels let _you_ have this job?”

Somehow, Brother Andrews taunting Castiel allowed Molly to find her voice again. “Leave him the fuck alone.”

“Ah, the slut has found her tongue.” Andrews leered at her. “Do you still blow like a professional?”

“I don’t know. Ask Castiel,” Molly shot back.

Castiel shot her a look, although he didn’t appear reproving. Instead, Molly could see a question in his eyes, one she thought she could interpret. Molly nodded briefly, and Castiel disappeared into thin air.

“He left you alone?” Brother Andrews smiled genially. “How nice of him, to give us a chance to get caught up.”

Molly smiled tightly. “He didn’t leave me alone.”

Castiel reappeared just behind Andrews, grabbed him by the shoulder, and whirled him around with one hand while grabbing Andrews’ face with the other. “Molly! The crucifix!”

Molly looked around the church wildly, trying to locate the crucifix they were supposed to be retrieving among the many decorating the nave and sanctuary. “Where is it?”

There was a crash, and she turned in time to see Castiel go flying. “Crap, crap, crap.”

“I’m going to paint this place with your blood, little girl,” Andrews snarled, heading towards her.

Molly ran towards the front of the church and the altar, spotting a glass case with a crucifix and plaque. “God forgive me,” she murmured, crossing herself automatically.

“There are some things that God doesn’t forgive.”

Andrews’ voice came from just over her shoulder, and Molly tensed, letting out a gasp.

“Taking a child’s innocence is one of those things.” Castiel’s gravelly voice broke in just as Molly felt a hand grasp at her arm, and she was immediately released.

Molly didn’t dare turn around, instead using her elbow to smash the glass on the case.

“You won’t leave this place alive!” Andrews shouted over the smashing glass.

Molly didn’t even bother trying to avoid the glass, ignoring the cuts on her knuckles and palm. When she turned, crucifix in hand, Castiel’s jaw was bruised, and there was blood on his shirt and pants, but Andrews’ unmoving body was on the floor.

Over Castiel’s shoulder, Molly could see half a dozen other demons closing in. “Oh, shit. Castiel, can we get out of here? Now?”

His wide, anxious eyes met hers. “I don’t know if I have the strength.”

Molly gripped the crucifix harder, and wondered how successful she would be if she tried to conduct a mass exorcism, and if they could survive long enough to get out.


	10. Chapter 10

“So, what’s the first item on our shopping list?”

Sam could hear the anxiety in Dean’s voice, but only because he knew Dean so well. “A shroud, located at the Holy Cross Cemetery in Pfeifer, Kansas.”

“And the shroud is supposed to…?”

“Protect the wearer from spiritual influence, such as possession.” Sam reviewed his notes. “It’s supposedly buried with one of the parishioners, so we’ll have to dig up the grave.”

“Old hat,” Dean commented, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Did Molly say anything about calling once they collected the first target?”

“Yeah, she said she’d call.” Sam twisted in the passenger seat to face Dean. “Is there a reason you didn’t want Cas to go with you?”

Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles going white. “No reason.”

“Come on, Dean. I could be sharing a hotel room with Molly tonight.”

Dean shot him a dirty look. “Forgive me for not caring about you getting laid when we’ve got an apocalypse to stop.”

“Like you’ve ever let _that_ prevent you from hooking up,” Sam shot back.

An uneasy silence settled over the car, and Sam cursed silently. There were times when he wished that the last year hadn’t happened at all; the trust they had built had been shattered, and Sam couldn’t help but think that had something to do with why Dean refused to confide in him now.

“How are things going with you two?” Dean’s voice was light, as though just making conversation, and Sam decided to follow his lead.

“Good. We’re taking things slow.”

“Not just a hook-up, then?”

“Molly’s different.” Sam couldn’t have said why she was different; maybe it was because she knew about the hunting. Maybe it was because she’d sat with him through the worst of the detox, and had seen him at his weakest and his worst.

And hell, maybe it was just because Sam wanted something more than a hard fuck; he wanted a girl he could trust.

“Yeah, she is,” Dean agreed. “It’s not every girl who’ll pitch in to stop an apocalypse.”

On an impulse, wanting to tease Dean and knowing that he hadn’t slept with anyone since Anna—and that his friendship with Castiel was the closest thing to a long-term relationship Dean had ever had—Sam asked, “So, what about you and Cas?”

“What do you know about that?”

Dean’s sharp demand had Sam’s eyes widening as he realized he’d hit a nerve. “Did something happen with you two?”

“What? No.”

Sam knew when Dean was lying. “Bullshit,” he shot back, point-blank. “No more lying, Dean. What the hell happened?” When Dean remained silent, Sam added, “Come on. This is important. If we can’t rely on Castiel—”

“Cas is reliable, and it’s none of your business.”

If Dean wouldn’t spill, Sam’s only option was to start guessing. “So…he’s in love with you?”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“He is!”

“I said, shut up!”

“What? Did he make a move on you?”

Dean’s stony silence told Sam everything he needed to know. “Dean. Dude.”

“Now is not the time, Sam.”

Sam snorted. “We’ve got a long drive. Why not talk about it?”

“Because it’s none of your damn business, that’s why.” With an abrupt jerk of the steering wheel, absurdly unlike how Dean normally treated the Impala, he pulled over to the shoulder. “You drive. I’m going to get some sleep.”

More to tease than anything else, Sam said, “You know, if you like him, I won’t judge you.”

Dean just gave him a dirty look and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Sam didn’t budge for a moment, sitting thoughtfully in the passenger seat. He didn’t think that Dean would be nearly so upset if there wasn’t real feeling there on his part; Dean had brushed off passes made by gay guys in the past without any sign of hard feelings.

With that in mind, Sam got out of the car, ignoring Dean’s silent treatment, and wondering how best to set his brother up with Castiel.

He thought that Molly might help.

~~~~~

Castiel sat silently next to Molly on the park bench, watching as her shoulders shook from unshed tears. He had no idea how to deal with this sort of emotion from another person, but thought perhaps it called for some kind of contact.

He cautiously put a hand on her shoulder, and she buried her face in his shirt. The movement hurt, and he could feel the bruises on his face, and his side, but Castiel knew they were not life-threatening.

And he knew that Dean would not allow similar injuries to stop him. “Are you okay?” Castiel asked quietly.

“Just give me a minute.” Her voice was muffled, but Castiel heard her well enough.

He looked around them, uncertain of where exactly they were. His only thought had been to get them out of the church and somewhere safe. Castiel hadn’t had enough power to determine their destination with any specificity. At the moment, however, Castiel thought they were probably in Oregon, since that was their next stop, and it was clear that they were in a city park, but he wasn’t sure which city.

Castiel liked parks. He had needed the peace they usually offered.

Acting on fuzzy memories retained from Jimmy, Castiel kept his arm around Molly, waiting for her to calm down. He released her as soon as she sat up straight, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Castiel replied. “How did you know that demon?”

“He was the leader of the cult my parents were in.” Molly pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead against her scrubs, her voice still hoarse with unshed tears. “He hated me.”

“Was he possessed at the time?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” Castiel had spent a long time observing humans, and he knew that she probably needed time to deal with what had just happened, particularly given her long history with the demon.

Molly sniffed. “Forget it. Let’s get out of here.”

“We can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I still need time to recover my strength.”

“Okay.” Molly clambered to her feet. “Okay.” She looked around. “Where are we?”

“Oregon. I think,” Castiel replied.

“We’ll figure it out, maybe find a place to sit for a while. I have some cash on me.” Molly stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Sorry about what I said earlier.”

“He hurt you.”

“It’s what demons do, right?” Molly’s smile was clearly forced. “No big deal.”

“Molly—”

“What do you want to know, Castiel?” she demanded. “Did he force me to perform sexual favors? Yeah, he did. He was a bastard. But he’s a demon, too, so what else did you expect?”

“I expected nothing,” he responded. “I thought I might help.”

“What does it matter?”

It sounded like what humans would probably call a rhetorical question, but Castiel wasn’t ready to let it go. Even before throwing in his lot with Dean, Castiel had watched humanity with no small amount of sympathy. Certainly, they were capable of great evil, but also of great compassion. Castiel had watched Molly treat Sam with tenderness and respect, even knowing what Sam had done, and he believed that she was present for a reason.

Even if that reason remained unfathomable to everyone but God—assuming He was still around.

“It matters,” he finally said, as certain of that statement as he was that Dean would save them all.

Molly gave him a disbelieving look, then said, “Yeah, everything you’ve ever heard about cults was true of ours, too. It was bad. I don’t really want to go into details.”

“Have you told Sam?”

“No, and I won’t unless I have to.”

“That may happen sooner than you think.”

“Maybe.” Molly sat back down on the bench next to him, her eyes fixed above. Castiel followed her gaze and saw sun-dappled leaves and pieces of blue sky. “It’s beautiful here.”

“Our Father’s creation is beautiful.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“There is no guesswork involved.”

“For you, maybe.” Molly rolled her head to look at him. “You’ve seen Him, so there’s no faith, either.”

“I haven’t seen my Father’s face.”

Molly sat up straight. “Really?”

“It is one of the reason I disobeyed,” he confessed. “I still believe that our Father is somewhere, that His will is to be obeyed. My superiors have put themselves in His place.” Castiel cleared his throat. “Some of them, anyway.”

“And Dean?”

“He believes that he’s doing the right thing.” Castiel didn’t add that he loved Dean for that, or that he believed that Dean was correct.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Molly seemed to read his mind, and for a moment, Castiel thought about denying it. He was certain that Dean would not want it to be common knowledge. “No.”

“You’re a really terrible liar, you know that?”

A smile touched his lips, in spite of the seriousness of their situation. “Yes. I have no practice.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Molly acknowledged. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“We love who we love,” Molly responded. “There’s nothing you can do about that.”

“And do you love Sam?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Because I believe that you might help him remain on the right path,” Castiel continued as though she hadn’t spoken.

“But no pressure, right?”

“You love whom you love.”

“Yeah.” Molly fixed her eyes on the playground equipment several yards away. “I don’t know, Castiel. I guess if we make it out of here alive, then I’ll have to figure out how I feel. Right now, though, I don’t know.”

“And do you want to talk about what happened?”

Molly closed her eyes for a moment. “Do you know why God didn’t answer my prayers?”

Her voice was little more than a whisper, and if Castiel hadn’t been so close, he didn’t think he would have heard her.

“No, but I believe it was a part of His plan.”

“I don’t believe there’s a plan anymore.” Molly opened her eyes to look at him. “I spent too many nights praying without any answers for that.”

“Perhaps you simply didn’t receive the answer you expected,” he suggested.

“Maybe.”

From her voice, Castiel knew that she didn’t believe him for a second.

~~~~~

“Well, that was a little too easy.” Dean wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket, knowing that he was probably just smearing dirt around.

Sam appeared equally uneasy. “Yeah, it was.” He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the screen. “I’m going to call her.”

Dean leaned up against one of the gravestones. “You’d probably better.” He couldn’t help but notice that Sam had Molly on his speed dial already, and he realized that he wanted to talk to Cas as much as Sam wanted to talk to Molly. Dean kept replaying the kiss over in his mind, and he wanted to let Castiel know that he hadn’t minded it so much.

“Molly?” The relief in Sam’s voice was obvious. “Are you okay? When we didn’t hear from you—” He stopped. “How bad?”

Dean sat up a little straighter. “What, Sam?”

Sam waved at him to be quiet. “And Cas?” There was another pause, and Dean’s mind went to all the things that might have gone wrong, all the ways Castiel could have been hurt. “Okay, well, call me soon.”

Sam got a sappy grin on his face at whatever Molly said in reply before hanging up. “Relax, Dean. They’re both fine; Cas is just tapped out. Molly said it would be at least a few hours before they could leave.”

“Where are they?” Dean asked.

“She said they were in Portland, and they would head out for La Pine as soon as Cas was ready.”

“But C—they’re both okay? Did they get the crucifix?”

Sam’s raised eyebrow and smirk told Dean that his brother was not at all fooled by his last minute switch. “Cas got beat up some, but he’ll recover. Molly sounded kind of shaken up, but she said she was fine.”

“Good.” Dean rose and picked up his shovel. “We’d better get going. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“Have you decided how we’re going to retrieve this one?”

“What? The reliquary?”

“Yeah. It’s in a private collection.”

Dean shrugged. “We break in and steal it.”

“Maybe we should try to buy it first?” Sam suggested.

Dean snorted. “With what money, Sam? Besides, we’re saving someone from a bloody end with all the demon activity.”

“True. Let’s get going. It’s a long drive to Texas.” Sam picked up the box they’d brought along for the shroud.

Dean followed more slowly, unable to get Castiel, and what might have happened, out of his mind. Castiel wasn’t his old, indestructible self anymore, and the idea of losing him _hurt_.

“You drive,” Dean called, tossing Sam his keys. “I’ll take over in a while.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam stashed the shroud in the trunk while Dean climbed wearily into the passenger seat.

But when Dean closed his eyes, all he could think about was Castiel’s brief, tentative kiss, and the fact that he wanted a chance to try again.

~~~~~

Bobby preferred easy hunts, but as he locked the lachrymatory in the panic room, he thought that this trip had been entirely _too_ easy. The newspaper headlines were getting more and more depressing, and he suspected that the recent earthquake in Mexico and tsunami in Japan had something to do with Lucifer’s rise.

Not to mention the half a dozen school and church shootings. It seemed like the demons were doing their best to take every sacred space and turn it into a war zone.

The noise from upstairs cause Bobby to grab the shotgun he kept by his side at all times now, chambering a round with one easy movement. When he entered the kitchen, he found Castiel sitting at the table, his head resting on his arms.

“You all right?”

“Just tired.”

“I told you to go to bed.” Molly sounded exasperated from her position by the coffee pot. “You need to sleep, Castiel.”

Castiel raised his head. “I’m fine.”

“Go to bed.”

Bobby watched the exchange with interest, raising an eyebrow when Castiel pushed himself back from the table wearily. “Good night, Molly.”

“’Night.”

“Bobby.”

“Castiel.”

“I take it your errands didn’t go quite so easy as mine,” Bobby said once the angel was gone.

Molly took a sip of coffee. “No, they didn’t, but we got what we needed.” She nodded at a box on the counter. “You probably want to lock that up.”

“You called Sam and Dean yet to let them know you’re back?”

“Yeah, they know. I talked to Sam.”

“And?”

“They’re on their way to Texas, said they got the shroud, no problem.” Molly set her coffee cup down. “I have to get going. I’ve got work.”

“Be careful,” Bobby advised. “Chances are, the demons have your scent now.”

She snorted. “You’re assuming that they didn’t before.”

Bobby watched her leave, then grabbed the box, opening it to see the crucifix and scapular.

Assuming Sam and Dean managed to collect their artifacts, they might have an actual solution to the problem in the next week.

Bobby was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.


	11. Chapter 11

The security system on the private collection of reliquaries was nothing Dean hadn’t dealt with before. He and Sam circumvented it and retrieved the reliquary without any alarms going off, although Dean could hear dogs begin to bark as he gunned the engine once they were outside the grounds.

“I don’t like this.” Sam sounded grumpy, and when Dean glanced over at his brother, Sam had the scowl to match.

“What’s not to like?”

“That was too easy.”

“So, now you complain about easy?”

“Nothing about this apocalypse has been easy, Dean,” Sam shot back. “I don’t trust it.”

Dean considered Sam’s point for a moment and acknowledged that he might be onto something. “What do you think we should do?”

Sam’s shocked expression told Dean that he probably hadn’t asked for Sam’s input nearly as much he should have in the recent past. “I think we should get as far away from here as we can,” Sam replied.

Dean considered it. “We’re both tired, Sam. I’m not sure how far we can get.”

“That’s what coffee is for,” Sam said.

Dean shrugged. “All right.”

After six hours on the road, Dean had to admit defeat, and he switched off with Sam to catch a nap. As tired as he was, Dean found it impossible to sleep; the brief kiss Castiel had pressed on him replayed over and over again.

In truth, the kiss itself wasn’t bothering him; Dean had fended off passes from guys in the past, usually with a laugh and a grin. Dean had never felt the sort of desire for another man that he felt for Castiel; he’d never felt himself harden at the thought of another guy.

Dean kept his eyes closed, leaning his head against the warm glass in the window, wishing he could sleep and get away from the thoughts circling in his mind. He had no idea how much time had passed when Sam broke the silence. “We’re going to have to stop, Dean.”

“I can drive for a while.”

Dean sat up to see Sam rolling his eyes. “You didn’t get any sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“We’re both exhausted,” Sam contradicted him. “And you’re not going to stop the apocalypse if you get us killed by falling asleep behind the wheel.”

Dean had to acknowledge Sam’s point. “Fine.”

Sam took the next exit, stopping at a No-Tell Motel that advertised rooms “as low as $39 a night!” Dean sighed upon entering the room; as with most things in life, you got what you paid for.

“At least it’s clean,” Sam offered.

Dean grunted his agreement and collapsed face-first on the bed. “Did you put down salt?”

“Did you?”

“You’re not in bed yet.”

“Neither are you.”

In response, Dean let out a very fake snore. He could _hear_ Sam’s annoyance, but then came the distinctive sounds of Sam rummaging for rock salt, and the swish as he poured it in lines in front of the door and windows.

“We’re all set,” Sam said quietly. “Try to get some sleep, Dean.”

~~~~~

Sam woke with a start, the sixth sense he’d developed over his years of hunting alerting him to a change in the room. For a moment, Sam couldn’t figure out what had changed, but as he scanned the room, he saw that the door was open and a maid stood in the doorway, moving the toe of her shoe through the salt line. A demon stood behind her with a knife to the side of her neck.

“Dean!”

Dean rolled out of bed, the knife from under his pillow in his hand, but demons were already pouring into the room. Sam found himself pinned to the floor by three of them before he could do more than make an abortive move toward the weapons bag. Dean managed to stab one of them heading in his direction, but three more took her place, pinning Dean to the wall.

“Sammy!”

Sam knew that Dean couldn’t see him over the bed that was between the wall and Sam, and he called out, “Dean, I’m okay.”

“Not for long, boy.” The man—demon—that swaggered into the room was clearly in charge, and he had a smirk on his face that said he knew he had control of the situation and he wasn’t about to lose it. “Move his brother so he can see.”

Sam struggled against the hands holding him down, but he found it impossible to throw them off. He could hear scuffling noises as the other demons forced Dean around the bed so that he had a view of Sam being held down.

“Leave him the fuck alone!” Dean yelled. “It’s me you want.”

“Dean, no!” Sam protested.

“You’re both wrong, actually,” the man in charge said. “We want what you were so kind to retrieve for us, but more than that, we want to be sure that Sammy boy here gets back on the right track.”

Sam began to struggle in earnest then, feeling raw terror surge through him. He already suspected what they had planned, but it was confirmed a moment later when the demon brought out a pocket knife. “No!”

“Now, be a good boy, Sammy, and open wide.”

Sam shut his mouth, pressing his lips tightly together, turning his face away. He could feel the rough, thin carpet press into his cheek, could see the bits of fuzz and other detritus that had been deposited under the bed.

Blood dripped, warm and wet, onto his face. The surge of longing, of sheer _want_, nearly had him turning to lap it up, but Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight. Dean’s voice buzzed in the background, but Sam was focused so hard on _not_ wanting what the demon had to offer that he couldn’t make out what his brother was saying.

A hand pinched his nose hard, and after a few seconds, Sam had no choice but to open his mouth, tasting the metallic tang of new pennies that he remembered so well. He didn’t want to swallow, but his only other choice was to drown in it, and he still couldn’t breathe through his nose.

“Castiel!”

Dean’s shout came through the jumbled emotions in Sam’s head, the hot, heady rush of the power that demon blood offered him, and he thought for a moment that his brother had gone crazy. There was no way that Cas could come all the way from South Dakota, no matter how loudly Dean yelled.

And then Sam felt one of his captors yanked away, and he heard shouts of distress and anger. Sam felt a hand yank him to his feet, and he looked down into Castiel’s eyes. “Get into the bathroom,” Castiel ordered. “Now.”

“Dean—” Sam began his protest.

“You need to get it out of your system. _Now_.”

Sam couldn’t argue with the logic of that statement, and he stumbled toward the bathroom, shoving his hand as far back into his throat as it would go, triggering his gag reflex. He leaned over the john, listening to the sounds of fighting behind him, retching into the porcelain bowl, feeling nothing short of useless.

When he’d thrown up everything remaining in his stomach, Sam got to his feet wearily. The sounds of fighting had ended a few seconds ago, and he exited the bathroom to see Dean on the floor next to Castiel.

Cas was crumpled on his back, and Dean was running his hands down Castiel’s chest, searching for any sign of life. “Come on, Cas,” he was whispering. “Don’t you dare do this to me. I need you.”

For a moment, Sam felt as though his breath had been stolen away. The desperation in Dean’s voice was so clear, so raw…

Dean looked up. “Sam, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sam assured him. “What happened to Cas?”

“They hit him with some whammy.” Dean put a hand on Castiel’s chest, his eyes on the shallow rise and fall. “I don’t know. He just went down, and I can’t wake him up.”

Sam looked around at the damage that had been done to the motel room, at the bodies either unconscious or dead, including that of the maid, and he started looking for his pants. “We need to get out of here, Dean. We’ll get Cas into the car and take off. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

Dean didn’t reply, instead rising slowly to help Sam gather their few things. “We shouldn’t have stopped.”

“We couldn’t have known they’d be able to find us like that, Dean.”

“_I_ should have known. One of us should have kept watch.”

“We laid salt lines,” Sam protested. “The demons got a maid to disturb them. We did everything we could, so could you forget the guilt trip for a minute?”

Dean took a deep, audible breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Stay with Castiel. I’ll get our stuff in the car, then we’ll both move him. We probably shouldn’t leave him alone.”

What Sam didn’t say was that he was certain Dean wouldn’t want to leave the angel. And no matter what Dean said, Sam knew that his feelings for Castiel were a lot more than friendly.

~~~~~

“Molly? You have a phone call from your brother.” Karen gave her a concerned, sympathetic look. “He says it’s a family emergency.”

She frowned. Her brother was in Afghanistan as far as she knew, and he wouldn’t be calling her if there was a family emergency; her _abuela_ would.

“Hello?”

“Molly, it’s Dean.”

“What happened?” she asked immediately. Bobby had expected the boys to make it back in sometime that day with both of their religious artifacts intact.

“We were ambushed on our way back to Bobby’s. Sam and I are okay, but Cas won’t wake up.”

Molly blinked. “What was he doing there?”

“He showed up when I called him. Things got—tight. He won’t wake up and it’s been nearly twelve hours.”

Molly heard the panic in Dean’s tone, and she checked the clock; three hours to go until her shift was over. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised. “But I don’t get off until 7.”

“Just—get here.”

“I’ll do my best, Dean. I promise.” When she hung up the phone, she saw her supervisor staring at her. “I don’t suppose there’s any way…”

“Go.” Karen smiled. “I know you wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency.”

“Thanks.” Molly didn’t bother changing; she grabbed her things and left, climbing into the old junker that ran just well enough to get her to and from Bobby’s house.

One of these days, she really was going to find her own apartment. It turned out that she kind of liked Sioux Falls. As soon as this stupid apocalypse was over—and assuming that the world didn’t end—Molly figured she’d have time to look.

Maybe she’d even get a new car.

When she arrived back at Bobby’s place, the loaner car’s engine coughing irritably, Molly saw Dean pacing the front porch. “Where is he?” she called.

“Inside. Sam’s with him. Sam said I was making him dizzy.”

Dean looked like hell, dark shadows like bruises under his eyes, his lip swollen from what had apparently been a hard hit. He was holding himself stiffly, too, and Molly made a mental note to check his ribs for breaks later.

“You look like shit,” Molly said bluntly, walking past him into the house. “So, sit down before you fall down.”

Molly heard Dean’s footsteps echoing behind her as she walked into the living room. She saw Sam rise from the chair next to the couch, where Castiel was stretched out, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Molly spared a moment to give Sam a good look, cataloguing his injuries, noting his black eye, but also the easy way he’d risen to his feet.

“You okay?”

Sam nodded. “Check on Cas.”

Molly knelt next to the couch, feeling Dean hovering behind her. Molly’s fingers searched for a pulse, finding it steady, grateful that an angel would have such a basic sign of life. Peeling back his eyelids, she noted that his pupils reacted to light, and were the same size. “He’s going to be fine, Dean.”

“How do you know?” Dean demanded.

“Pulse is steady, pupils are responsive, and he’s breathing without trouble.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Not to mention that he still shows up angelic on my radar. But he was exhausted when we got back, and had no time to recover before saving your asses, so now he’s out cold. Give him time.”

Dean turned and stalked from the room without another word, and Molly frowned, rising to look at Sam. “What was that about?”

“He’s just tired; I wouldn’t take it personally.”

Molly sighed. “I don’t, but I need to look him over. He’s hurt.”

“I know. Just—let me talk to him first? I think Bobby’s making breakfast if you want something to eat.” Sam bent and gave her a half-hearted peck on the lips, then left the room.

She sat back down next to Castiel’s still figure, remembering what it had felt like to have his arm around her. His nearness had been overwhelming at the time, which might have explained why she’d lost it so badly. To have something—someone—so pure and righteous, and _good_, hold her after seeing Andrews again…

“These Winchesters are nothing but trouble,” Molly whispered. “I’ll bet you’d agree with me there, too.” He didn’t stir, and she hesitated, then pulled out the rosary she’d taken to carrying around with her.

Acting on an impulse she didn’t understand, Molly began reciting the words of the _Pater Noster_, and then the _Ave Maria_. She’d always loved the way the Latin fell off her tongue, the way her _abuela_ had first taught her. Molly wondered if Latin was more effective; all the exorcism rituals were still in Latin, after all.

When there was still no reaction, Molly found herself praying the words that her _abuela_ had spoken over her every night, no matter how often that Molly had insisted she didn’t need prayer.

“Loving Father,” she whispered in Spanish, the same language her _abuela_ had used. “Watch over your child and grant him healing.”

~~~~~

Bobby paused, the fork he was using to flip the bacon hanging in midair, when Molly entered the kitchen.

“Dean, Cas is awake. He’s asking for you.”

Dean sat up straight. “What?”

“He’s awake, and he’s asking for you.” Molly sat down at the table. “Go on.”

Dean stared at her a moment longer before nodding once and heading for the living room, pausing only to squeeze Molly’s shoulder in thanks.

“Should I make extra?” Bobby asked.

“Maybe not bacon, but eggs and toast would be fine,” she replied wearily.

Bobby watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam reached tentatively for Molly’s hand. “Are you okay?” Sam asked.

“I’m okay. I’ll probably go to bed here pretty soon.”

“You could both use the sleep,” Bobby said from his position by the stove. “And Sam, if you can get that hard-headed brother of yours to sleep, that would be good.”

Molly smirked. “I’ve already spoken to Castiel about it. I think they’ll both be down for the count all day.”

“What did you do?” Sam asked.

Molly twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “I prayed. I figured I owed him that at least.”

Although Sam lowered his voice, Bobby could still hear him over the sizzle and pop of the bacon fat. “What happened between you two?”

“I ran into someone I used to know, and Castiel saved my life.” Bobby knew sore spots, and he could hear the pain in her voice. “I shouldn’t have frozen the way I did. We might have been able to get out of there a little easier.”

“We got what we needed,” Sam replied soothingly. “We can build the Devil’s Trap now, and stop Lucifer.”

“If the world doesn’t end before that.”

Bobby turned his back to the couple as Sam pulled her into his arms, not wanting to see anything he shouldn’t, and also wanting to give them some privacy. What with Sam striking something up with Molly, and Dean hovering over his angel, Bobby was beginning to feel a lot like a fifth wheel.

He put the bacon on a plate and began cracking eggs to fry in the grease. “Can I help?” Sam asked from behind him.

Bobby glanced behind him. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

Sam flushed slightly. “She went to look Dean over and make sure Castiel is okay. Do you need any help?”

“Watch the eggs,” Bobby said, pulling out the toaster. “We’re going to need to summon a demon, you know, and Molly’s got to be the one to do it.”

“I know.” Sam looked away. “I don’t like it.”

“She’s in this now, whether you like it or not, boy,” Bobby said quietly. “Castiel wouldn’t tell me what happened, not all the details, anyway, but she got shook up bad in New York. You might want to double check, see if she can handle this. If not, I might be able to find someone else.”

Sam nodded, focusing on the eggs in the pan, and Bobby sighed. He would be happy when the apocalypse was over, and not just from the standpoint of saving the world.

He was ready to have his house back.


	12. Chapter 12

A hand on his shoulder caused Castiel to force his eyes open, a pair of green eyes just inches from his face. “Hey.”

“Dean.” Castiel felt his lips twitch into a half-hearted smile. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. You’re the one we were worried about.”

Castiel tried to make his smile more sincere. “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

“Yeah, I guess. How did Molly get you to wake up?”

“She prayed.” Castiel had felt the weight of her words as Molly recited the words of the prayers, both ancient and not, and he appreciated what it meant for her to pray.

“I’ll have to try that next time.” Dean’s hand was still on his shoulder, and Castiel felt the warmth radiating through several layers of clothing. As though just realizing that he was still touching Castiel, Dean removed his hand and cleared his throat. “You hungry? Bobby’s making breakfast.”

Castiel hesitated, still unused to the demands that the vessel sometimes placed on him. “I’m not sure.”

“You’d probably better eat, then.”

“You guys aren’t going anywhere,” Molly announced as she entered the room. She pointed an accusatory finger at Castiel. “Remember our deal?”

He nodded. “I remember.”

“Good.” She turned her rather intimidating gaze on Dean. “Shirt off. You’re holding yourself like you bruised some ribs.”

“More like rebruised them,” Dean muttered. “I’m fine, Molly.”

“I’m the medical professional, remember? And I’ve seen you without your shirt on before. So, off.”

Dean flushed. “I don’t—”

“Now.”

He fumbled with the hem of his t-shirt; Castiel couldn’t keep his eyes off the skin that was exposed. Dean glanced up and met Cas’ eyes, and his flush deepened as he looked away.

Molly’s smirk turned wicked. “Come on, Dean. I’m sure that Castiel has seen your chest before, too. It’s a very nice chest, though.”

“Shut up.” Dean pulled the shirt over his head, moving slowly and stiffly.

“Shit, Dean,” Molly sighed. “You couldn’t have had Sam wrap this for you?”

“It’s just a bruise.”

“You’ve probably rebroken them. Idiot.” Castiel noted that she said it fondly, though, and her hands were gentle as she tested the bruise.

“Maybe cracked,” Dean hedged.

“Only cracked, huh? Big, tough man like you can handle some cracked ribs.”

Dean just glared at her, which caused Molly to laugh.

“Okay, I’ll get the bandages and wrap your ribs, then you two can eat and get some sleep.” Molly rose and walked out of the room, and Castiel tried to keep his eyes focused on the floor or the wall, anything other than Dean.

Castiel believed that what he was feeling was what the humans commonly called “desire” or even “lust”, but he had seen how Dean reacted after their brief kiss.

“Here.” Molly came back into the room with two plates balanced on one arm and a roll of bandages in the other. She handed one of the plates with its fork to Castiel and put the other down on the floor. “This shouldn’t take long, Dean.”

Castiel ate and watched as Molly wrapped Dean’s ribs tightly, her expression sympathetic as he winced. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“No big deal.” Dean took the plate she held out to him once she was finished. “Thanks, Molly. For coming on such short notice.”

“Hey, what else are sisters for, right?” Molly smiled at her, then pressed her lips to Dean’s forehead in what looked like a benediction. “Sam and I will help get Cas up the stairs. You don’t need to strain those ribs any further.”

Castiel cleared his throat when she left the room. “Don’t,” Dean interrupted. “I told you, it’s not like that.”

“I know.” Castiel risked a look at Dean. “I just meant—she called herself your sister.”

Dean gave him a sheepish grin. “Yeah, well, when I called the hospital, I said I was her brother.”

“I see.”

“I had to make the hospital think there was a family emergency. I was worried about you.”

More than the words, it was the feeling in Dean’s voice and eyes that caused a warm glow to spread through Castiel, and he thought that perhaps he hadn’t ruined everything after all.

~~~~~

“Okay, I can’t believe you actually got Cas and Dean to share a bed,” Sam announced, unbuttoning his shirt.

Molly shrugged. “Cas was easy, and I just pointed out to Dean that they both needed a bed, and mine was big enough for sharing.”

“So that’s why you’re staying with me?” Sam asked.

“And I missed you.” Molly smiled, but Sam saw the uneasiness flicker across her face.

“Molly, we don’t have to do anything. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“I know. It’s okay, really.”

Sam reached out for her, then drew his hand back when she flinched. “Molly?”

“I’m sorry.” She sank down on the bed and covered her face with her hands. “I thought I was past this, you know?”

“What happened in New York?”

She shook her head, not looking up. Sam sat down next to her. “When we got ambushed, they forced me to drink demon blood,” he admitted.

Molly pulled her hands away from her face to look at him, shocked. “What?”

“Castiel risked his life to get to us, and then he risked his life to make sure I got the blood out of my system. But the desire for blood, it’s still there; it’s never going away.”

“I know. You’re an addict. Part of the whole package, right?”

“So, we both have issues.”

Molly rose and began to pace. Sam could see the tension in her posture, and although he wanted to offer her comfort, he kept his silence.

“The demon we met up with in New York, he was the leader of the cult my parents were in. You know all those stories you hear about cults? About what happens, especially to kids?”

“Abuse?”

“Yeah. He said some things, brought it all back. I thought…I was supposed to be moving past it, you know? Getting better. I was finally getting my life in order.”

“And here you are?”

“And here I am.” Molly turned to face him. “I know I have to be the one to summon the demon, and that we have to find out where Lucifer is so we can trap him. I know this was something I was meant to do.”

“Molly—”

“I just—can’t _be_ with you in that way right now, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to. This is why every other relationship I’ve ever had didn’t work, because _this part_… I thought I could, but—”

Sam cut her off. “Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay. Look, I can wait.”

“For how long?” she demanded.

“As long as it takes.” Sam rose and put his hands on her shoulders. “You call the shots, Molly. You decide when. I’m not going to push you, or ask for more than you can give. We’ve already done that.”

She stared at him, tears in her eyes. “Sam, you say that now, but—”

Sam just smiled. “Molly, I don’t know if I’m going to survive this, or if Dean will, or what kind of shape we’ll be in at the end. Maybe this thing between us works, and maybe it doesn’t, but I’m not willing to call it quits now, not without trying.”

Molly put her head on his chest, and Sam wrapped his arms around her. For once, he was the one playing the protector; for once, he had something to offer that had nothing to do with his demon blood or hunting.

Sam hadn’t been able to say that since Stanford.

“Come on. We should both get some sleep.” Sam left his clothes on, not wanting to worry Molly any more than she already was. Molly was still in her scrubs, and she left them on, crawling under the covers next to him.

Sam waited until she’d moved so that they were spooning, and he put an arm around her, trying to make sure that he didn’t touch anything he shouldn’t. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah. I think I might sleep today.”

“Good. Me, too.” And Sam buried his face in Molly’s hair and closed his eyes.

~~~~~

Dean woke slowly, his arm thrown over a hard chest. He knew what he would find as soon as he opened his eyes, so he feigned sleep, wanting to stay just where he was without reality intruding.

“Dean?” When he didn’t reply, Castiel continued, “I know you’re awake.”

Swallowing hard, Dean opened his eyes slowly. “Hey.”

“Hello.”

Castiel’s eyes were clear today, the shadows of fatigue having faded.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked.

“Better. I believe I will be ready today, or possibly tomorrow.”

“We have to be sure Molly is ready.”

“She will be. She told me.”

“Good.” Dean had no idea what to say. He didn’t want to move, more comfortable where he was than any straight guy had a right to be. “Cas—”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t—I don’t want to lose our friendship.”

Castiel sounded tentative, as though he wasn’t quite sure that they were truly friends, and Dean suddenly couldn’t stand the distance between them. Acutely aware of his morning breath, he moved closer, pressing his lips to Castiel’s.

Cas responded almost immediately, and Dean had to be impressed with his learning curve, because he seemed to have figured out a lot since the last time.

Some sense entered Dean’s head, and he pulled back, “You won’t fall for this, will you? I won’t make you fall.”

The sorrow in Castiel’s eyes stole his breath—and not in a good way. “It’s too late, Dean. Falling is the consequence of disobedience. It is only a matter of time now.”

Dean shook his head desperately. “No. I know you didn’t want to. You were just doing what was right. Tzadqiel—”

“Is the angel of mercy,” Castiel supplied gently. “But he knows what all of my brothers and sisters know: when an angel disobeys, it is because someone or something has replaced our Father in our hearts and minds. I cannot come back from that, Dean.”

Dean blinked, the significance of Castiel’s words beginning to sink in. “Wait, what? Me? But—”

“When will you accept that you are worthy, Dean?” Castiel sounded impatient. “God ordered you saved; I believe that his plan will be brought to fruition, but if that takes my falling, it will be worth it.”

“No.” Dean rolled over, stood up. “You can’t fall for me, you son of a bitch. I’m not going to ruin another life. I’m not—”

Castiel had definitely recovered a good bit of his strength, because he was in front of Dean in the space of a heartbeat, pushing Dean back against the wall. It was the green room all over again, but this time Dean recognized the fervor in Castiel’s eyes for what it was. “You did _nothing_,” Castiel hissed. “I _chose_. _This_ is what I want. _You_ are what I want.”

It was all too much—and it wasn’t enough. Dean crushed his mouth to Castiel’s, hands kneading Cas’ thin shoulders, feeling stubble scrape across his chin. “You really got to get rid of that damn coat, man,” Dean managed in between kisses.

“If you think I should,” Castiel replied, managing to sound both accommodating and grateful. “I will.”

“Your choice,” Dean acknowledged. He pulled back, searching Castiel’s face for any sign of doubt or regret. “Cas—I never wanted this. I wouldn’t have asked—”

Castiel shook his head. “Yes, you would have, even knowing what would happen to me. To save Sam, you would have asked.”

Dean felt the weight of truth in his words. “Yeah.”

“I don’t mind.”

He sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me feel like an asshole.”

“I know who and what you are; you’re a good man, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, a reluctant smile curving his lips. “Whatever.” He decided to change the subject before things got too far into chick-flick territory.

“Will you run away again?” Castiel blurted out, clearly having no idea how to avoid girly moments.

The real fear of rejection in Castiel’s eyes caused Dean to flush and at least try to answer. He didn’t know how to feel about what was going on between him and Cas, didn’t know what to say or how to respond. All Dean knew was that the thought of losing Castiel hurt more than anything except the thought of losing Sam, and that death was at their heels.

“_Carpe diem_, Cas,” Dean replied slowly. When Castiel gave him a blank look, Dean added, “No, I’m not going to run. I don’t know what this is between us, but whatever it is, it’s real.”

Castiel put a hand to his cheek, cupping his face. “I’m glad.”

Somehow, in spite of all his confusion, so was Dean.

~~~~~

Bobby watched as Dean and Sam painted the Devil’s Trap on the floor of the abandoned motel lobby, Castiel offering suggestions for how to make it stronger. Molly stood, her back pressed against the wall, arms crossed tightly in front of herself. She looked freaked out, and Bobby didn’t blame her.

Normally, he was against involving civilians in this sort of thing, but they didn’t have much of a choice. No way would a random demon show up if the Winchesters, Castiel, or Bobby summoned them, not knowing that it would be killed.

“I believe it’s ready,” Castiel finally announced, then turned to Molly. “Do you remember the procedure?”

She gave a short, jerky nod. “I remember.”

“Molly, you don’t have to do this,” Sam said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We can find someone else.”

“No, you can’t.” She set her jaw. “I saw the newspaper today. More and more people are dying, and no one knows why. No one can stop it unless we find Lucifer. So, we find God damned Lucifer.”

Bobby nodded his approval and began setting out what Molly would need to summon the demon. Her face was pale as she started the ritual, but her voice and hands were steady as she lit the candles.

“Let’s go.” Bobby grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him up the stairs to one of the empty rooms, while Castiel did the same for Dean. Bobby didn’t miss how Castiel’s hand lingered on Dean’s arm even after they were far enough away to avoid detection.

“What happens if something goes wrong?” Sam demanded, beginning to pace. “What if the demon doesn’t walk into the trap?”

“That’s what the second trap on the ceiling is for,” Bobby reminded him. “Easy, Sam.”

“We both know how quickly things can go wrong,” Sam shot back.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, we do. No one wants Molly to get hurt.”

Silence fell as they waited for Molly to give them the signal. The loud blast of the safety whistle broke the silence; Sam was the first out of the room, his long legs putting him back in the lobby a minute before anyone else.

Bobby brought up the rear, seeing the demon standing in the middle of the Devil’s Trap, seething. Molly leaned back into Sam’s chest as he whispered in her ear, and Castiel strode forward. “Quickly, Dean,” Castiel said. “I’m not certain how long we’ll be left alone.”

“You’re going to die for this, bitch,” the demon said, wearing the body of a pretty woman around Molly’s age. “We’ll slice you up so slowly. You’ll think that time with Brother Andrews was heaven compared to what we’re going to do to you.”

“You won’t touch a hair on her head,” Castiel said authoritatively.

“Oh? Is the little angel gonna stop me?” the demon taunted.

Castiel raised a hand. “Silence.”

The demon went silent, glaring at Castiel ineffectually. Bobby had to admit he was impressed.

“Sam, take Molly outside,” Castiel ordered.

Sam looked over at Dean, a question in his eyes. Dean nodded firmly, but sympathetically. Bobby figured they both knew how hard it was to be out of the action, but he thought it was probably a good idea to get Sam away from any demon that might end up bleeding.

“Yeah.” Sam’s voice was hoarse, and he kept an arm around Molly’s shoulders as he led her outside.

“Give me the knife, Dean.” Castiel held out his hand for the knife that was already in Dean’s hand.

“But Alastair—”

“Was older.”

“Cas—”

“I would not have you go through this again, Dean. Let me.”

Bobby knew he was missing a lot of subtext, but Dean put the knife in Castiel’s hand, his hand lingering just a little too long on Castiel’s.

Bobby’s eyebrows went up, and he shook his head. The Winchesters never did anything by half measures, that was for sure. If things were any less serious, Bobby would have wished for popcorn.


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel stalked around the demon in an ever-smaller circle, knife ready in his hand. Dean knew that angels and demons were enemies, and maybe it wasn’t such a big deal for Castiel to torture a demon, but Dean didn’t like seeing it.

Dean thought of Cas as too good for this sort of thing; Dean wasn’t.

Still, he was grateful that he didn’t have to reveal that aspect of himself to Bobby, and he had to admit that Castiel was intimidating as hell.

“You will tell us where Lucifer is going next.” It was a statement, not a question, and Castiel made another slow circle.

“Fuck you,” she spat.

Castiel shook his head. “Do you think you can hold out against an angel of the Lord?”

“I’m not scared of you.” The slight tremble in her voice indicated otherwise.

Castiel smiled, and it was by far the coldest expression Dean had ever seen. “You will be, and you will tell me where Lucifer plans to go next.”

“If I do that, Lucifer will kill me,” she whined.

Castiel circled, and Dean could see the hard smile on his face. “No, Lucifer will torture you deep in the Pit, but I will wipe you from existence. You will be nothing.”

Dean saw the demon flinch, blinking its black eyes. “I can’t, I can’t,” the demon whined.

Castiel’s knife hand flicked out, so quickly that Dean very nearly missed it; he might have except for the bright red stain beginning to stain the sleeve of the demon’s yellow shirt. “You will.”

The demon sneered. “Fuck off.”

The knife flicked out again, and blood stained the other sleeve. “Tell us.”

“Kill me.”

Castiel’s lips drew into a wide, cold smile. “No, I don’t think so.” He raised his left hand, and the demon let out a cry of pain so terrible that Dean shivered, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Tell me,” Castiel repeated.

“No!” Another scream of pain.

“Tell me!”

“No!”

“TELL ME!” Castiel’s roar had a hint of his real voice behind it, and Dean clapped his hands over his ears, and saw Bobby do the same out of the corner of his eye.

“Indiana!” the demon screeched. “Gary, Indiana! An abandoned church!”

“When?” Castiel demanded.

“Soon, soon! That’s all I know!” From the pain behind the howl, Dean suspected that the demon was actually telling the truth.

Castiel nodded, as though in satisfaction, and pressed a hand to the demon’s forehead.

“What the hell was that?” Bobby spoke for both of them, as Castiel caught the girl as she collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut.

Castiel’s knees started to buckle, and Dean darted forward to help him. “It wouldn’t be wise to allow the demon to inform Lucifer of our intentions,” Castiel replied, willingly handing the girl to Dean.

“Sammy!” Dean shouted. “Bring the first aid kit!”

He laid her down on the floor, then turned to Castiel; Bobby was helping him to sit, and Castiel put his head between his legs. “Forcing it to talk was more difficult than I thought it would be,” Castiel admitted quietly.

“Had you ever done that before?” Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. “No. There were other angels who were always quicker to volunteer than I was.”

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean began.

Castiel cut him off with a quick shake of his head. “Don’t. I told you once that I would spare you if I could, and this time, I could.”

Sam jogged into the room with the first aid kit in hand, Molly on his heels. “What have we got here?” Molly asked. “Never mind. I think I can figure it out.”

She began to check the girl over, giving Sam directions in a low voice. Dean took the opportunity to help Castiel stand.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Castiel handed the knife back to Dean. “I’ll be fine. I just need a moment.”

“Sure.” Dean glanced up at Bobby. “What’s up?”

“I’m going to drive Sam, Molly, and the girl to the hospital,” Bobby replied. “Molly thinks she might have a head injury. You two okay to get back to my place by yourselves?”

“Meet you at the house?” Dean asked. “We’ll need to head to Gary immediately.”

Bobby nodded. “We’ll be there as soon as we drop the girl off.”

Dean waited until the others were gone to put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “You gonna be okay to go with us?”

Castiel nodded. “By the time we arrive in Gary, I will have recovered.” Castiel gave him a look that could only be called sly. “But perhaps you could kiss it and make it better?”

Dean laughed—and complied.

~~~~~

“What happened here?”

The flurry of activity in the ER was completely expected, and Molly made certain that her face showed none of the guilt she felt.

Because while the girl was no longer possessed—and that was definitely an improvement—she was badly injured.

“I’m not sure,” Molly replied, addressing her response to one of the doctors she recognized. “My boyfriend and I were taking a walk, and we just found her like this.” She shifted into nurse mode, hoping to get the focus off of her and Sam—Bobby was waiting for them out in the car—and onto the victim.

“I think she might have a head injury,” Molly said. “We had a first aid kit in the car, and we stopped the bleeding on her arms. It’s possible that this was some sort of knife attack, since those lacerations look like they might be defensive wounds.”

“We’ll check her out,” the doctor promised as they wheeled the girl away.

Sam grabbed her arm. “Let’s go.”

“They’re going to call the police,” she warned him. “We might need to stick around.”

“There’s no time.”

She allowed him to lead her out, trying not to think about the ramifications of leaving the girl at the hospital without sticking around. They were going to look guilty—but then, no one had asked them to stay.

Molly climbed into the backseat of Bobby’s waiting car, sitting silently through the ride back to the salvage yard. Scenes from the past couple of hours kept flashing through her mind—the summoning ritual, the demon’s appearance, waiting with Sam until Dean and Castiel had finished the interrogation.

And now Sam and the others would be driving, trying to beat Lucifer to his next stop and send him back to hell. Molly knew that she was expected to remain behind, but it felt wrong not to at least offer to go. She could at least provide medical assistance if things got dicey.

If there was time to offer medical assistance.

“Pack your stuff up, Sam,” Bobby ordered once they pulled into the yard. “We’ll leave as soon as we get everything together.”

After a moment, Molly hurried to catch up with Sam. “Need any help?”

“Keep me company?”

“Sure.” She watched as Sam began to gather his clothes from various places around Bobby’s house, including the bedroom she’d been using. Molly waited for the relative privacy to ask, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“What?”

His surprise was obvious, and Molly could feel herself flushing. “I just—I know you think I should stay behind, but if I can help…”

“It’s too risky.” Sam’s response was immediate and strong. “Sorry, Molly, but we can’t protect you. If something goes wrong—”

“Is this how it’s always going to be?” she blurted out, immediately regretting the question. “No, sorry. Don’t answer that.”

Sam froze in his preparations. “What did you mean by that?”

“Forget I said anything.”

“No.” Sam faced her. “I need to know.”

“I just—is this always how it is when you leave someone behind?”

Sam stared at the floor. “We’ve never left anyone behind.”

“Oh.”

“Are you okay with this?” Sam asked.

Molly could hear the fear in Sam’s voice, and she smiled, knowing that he _wanted_ to come back to her. “Yeah, Sam. Go save the world.”

She could cry after he was gone.

~~~~~

Sam framed Molly’s face with both hands as he leaned in for another kiss. “Be careful,” she whispered. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

She pulled back to look him in the eye. “Okay.” Molly turned to Dean. “Take care of him?”

“Always.”

Sam grinned as Molly pulled Dean into a hug without waiting to ask for permission. “When you guys get back, I’m making my _abuela’s_ enchiladas.”

“Awesome.” Dean grinned at her. “Keep your head down, Molly.”

“Absolutely.”

Sam covered his laughter with a cough when Molly kissed Bobby on the cheek. The older man blushed and muttered something about needing to get on the road. Molly didn’t bother to hide her laughter, and she turned to Castiel.

Molly didn’t try to hug the angel, but their eyes met, and Castiel nodded, as though she’d said something only he could hear. “_Vaya con Dios_,” Molly said.

“Peace be upon you,” Castiel replied.

Sam climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala a few minutes later, after one more brief, desperate kiss. Bobby had already left in his vehicle, and Castiel was sitting in the backseat.

Sam slumped back, wishing desperately that he wasn’t leaving Molly behind, and knowing that it was for the best.

“You okay?” Dean sounded concerned, rather than impatient, which told Sam just how worried he was.

Sam didn’t bother looking at Dean. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You guys are pretty serious, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Sam.”

“I don’t know, Dean!” Sam took a deep breath to calm himself. “I guess, if I make it through this alive, we’ll see.”

“You’ll make it.” Dean’s dark tone left no doubt.

Sam sighed, knowing exactly how far Dean would go to make sure he did. “Yeah.”

“You guys doing okay?” Dean asked.

Sam didn’t know how to respond to that. They were okay, but he couldn’t exactly tell Dean that he and Molly had shared a bed without having sex. Nor could he explain how it had felt to hear her offer to come along, or the desperation in her voice. And even if he had been inclined to talk to Dean about it, he wasn’t going to discuss his relationship with Molly with Castiel’s silent presence in the backseat. “Yeah, it’s just different.”

“Wait until you get back,” Dean advised. “You guys can figure it out.”

Sam wasn’t so sure; he didn’t know how many times he could leave and still trust that she was waiting for him. He certainly couldn’t explain how important it had become that she was waiting. “How are we doing this, Cas?”

“We create the trap and incorporate the religious artifacts.”

“Yeah, that’s not vague,” Sam muttered.

“Easy,” Dean murmured.

Castiel’s reply, when he finally made one, was stiff and definitely pissy. “It is difficult to describe in words.”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean assured him. “Look, get some rest, okay? We’ve got a drive, and we need you in shape for this.” Dean gave Sam his best older-brother-knows-best look. “Same goes for you, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t want to obey—out of principle, if nothing else—but Dean was right. It was over nine hours to Gary, long enough for both of them to catch some sleep before arriving.

Assuming they arrived in time, assuming that they didn’t have to go back to Bobby’s and ask Molly to summon another demon, then say their goodbyes all over again.

Assuming this wasn’t a trap.

“What is it, Sam?” Dean always knew when he faked sleep.

“You really think this is going to work?”

“How the hell should I know?”

Sam opened his eyes to look at his brother; Dean was staring resolutely at the road, one hand on the steering wheel, looking almost relaxed. If it wasn’t for the tic in his jaw and the lines of tension around his eyes, Sam would have thought they were driving to what was just another job.

He had to wonder if they would ever have “just another job” again.

“Dean—”

“Castiel hasn’t steered us wrong yet.”

The way Dean said the angel’s name caused Sam to go on the alert. There was something there, something more than just Dean’s ubiquitous sense of responsibility. Sam was dying to ask him about it, but he knew better than to push when Dean was on edge.

“No, he hasn’t,” was all Sam said in response, closing his eyes again and leaning his head against the window.

~~~~~

“I’m afraid it has to be your blood, Dean.”

Dean was ready for Sam and Bobby’s outburst. At Castiel’s request, they had stopped by a hardware store for paint and brushes, but apparently the paint wasn’t enough to ensure that Lucifer would be trapped.

“Why me?” Dean asked because he knew that Sam would demand an answer to that very question, but he was ready to do whatever it took.

Castiel shrugged. “It’s prophecy.”

“That’s crap, and you know it.” Dean recognized the voice immediately as belonging to Zachariah. They all turned to see Zachariah standing in the old church, two other men in suits standing behind him.

“You’re not needed here,” Castiel said coldly. “Tzadqiel came to see us. He’s aware of your plan.”

“Too bad you won’t be able to carry it out.” Zachariah responded. “We wanted Lucifer dead, not back in hell.”

“We don’t always get what we want,” Dean shot back. “Now, if you’ll get out of here, we can get down to business.”

“You’re right about one thing, Castiel,” Zachariah said, ignoring Dean. “You’ll need Dean’s blood. Unfortunately, you’re going to have a hard time getting it.”

Dean blinked, and found himself—elsewhere. Wherever he was, though, it was fucking hot. Way too fucking hot.

He stripped his outer shirt off and stared up at the faded blue sky. Dean had expected Zachariah to be there as well, posturing and threatening, but Dean was alone.

“Dean Winchester.”

Dean whirled, facing the man who had appeared behind him. The man’s skin was so dark that it seemed to absorb the light. He was tall and well-muscled, and there was a sense of _other_ about him so strong that Dean knew immediately that he faced an angel.

“I am Michael.”

Make that an archangel.

“Where the hell am I? And what the fuck just happened?” he demanded.

Michael appeared to consider his question for a moment. “I believe you know this place as Death Valley, and I’m afraid we did not arrive in time to prevent him from sending you here. I followed immediately when we realized what Zachariah had planned. We are on the same side, Dean.”

“Great,” Dean said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “So, can you get me back to where I was? We were in the middle of something.”

Michael smiled, white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “Of course.”

“Hey, uh, why does it have to be my blood?” Dean thought that maybe Michael would know even if Cas didn’t.

“Because you are the righteous man who spilled blood in hell,” Michael replied, his voice oddly gentle. “And you must spill blood again.”

Dean understood that kind of symmetry. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Michael nodded, then said, “We will hold off the denizens of hell, Dean, and prevent Zachariah and his ilk from interfering with your task. But you must get Lucifer into the trap.”

Dean had already suspected that this was going to be difficult, but something in Michael’s voice told him it was going to be near impossible.


	14. Chapter 14

Bobby never thought he’d say it, but he was getting a little tired of the angels that kept showing up. It was getting too hard to keep track of who was on what side, and he really didn’t like the way Dean kept disappearing into thin air.

As far as he was concerned, however, there were two sides: theirs and everybody else.

“Now it’s time to get rid of the rest of the riffraff.” Zachariah smiled thinly. “The archangels weren’t hard enough on you, Castiel.”

“On the contrary, we were called off by a higher authority than you, Zachariah.”

Bobby wished he were relieved to see more angels, rather than pissed off to have another interruption. With all that was going on, Lucifer was going to have plenty of warning that they were there.

The girl who spoke was young, no more than fifteen, but there was an unmistakable power in her voice. With her pale skin and black hair, she didn’t look much like an angel.

“Jophiel.” Zachariah clearly knew the other angel, as well as the man who stood next to her. “Tzadqiel.”

“Join us, Zachariah, and you may yet receive forgiveness,” Tzadqiel intoned.

Bobby took a few steps back, not wanting to get caught in the middle of an angel smack down. Across the room from him, Castiel grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him back out of the crossfire.

“I don’t think so,” Zachariah replied. “I haven’t finished yet. Eventually, Dean will have to kill Lucifer, you know.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

Bobby turned, surprised to Dean appear again so suddenly, this time with company. The tall, dark man who stood protectively behind Dean unsheathed a sword in response to Dean’s words.

“New plan, Zach,” Dean replied. “Lucifer goes back to hell, and you get spanked by the big guy upstairs.”

A sword appeared in Zachariah’s hand. “I don’t think so.”

“Shit,” Bobby said, summing up the situation as he saw it in one word.

The third angel was suddenly in front of Dean, his sword crashing against Zachariah’s, and Bobby noticed for the first time that the other angels, the ones who seemed to be on their side, were dressed more like hunters than lawyers.

Bobby wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do—or what was even possible under the circumstances. Only an angel could kill another angel, and they didn’t have any angel-repellant.

“Dean!” Bobby spotted Castiel holing out a knife to Dean, standing over the bucket of red paint. While he wasn’t exactly surprised, Bobby still felt a jolt of alarm as Dean sliced his arm open, letting blood flow.

Bobby raced across the room to Dean’s side, pulling off his flannel shirt and ripping off the sleeve. As soon as Castiel announced, “That’s enough,” Bobby wrapped Dean’s arm tightly to stop the bleeding.

Dean grabbed Ruby’s knife and pressed it into Bobby’s hand. “I won’t need it.”

“Dean…”

“Watch out for Sammy.” Dean glanced over his shoulder. “We got more company.”

Bobby turned and saw half a dozen people coming through the door, and every single one of them had black eyes.

~~~~~

This wasn’t the first time Molly had been called in for questioning by the police; one of her boyfriends hadn’t been the most law-abiding citizen in the world, and while she hadn’t been involved in any of his criminal activities, she’d had to talk fast to convince the cops of that.

It didn’t help that the detective, Russo, had already done some checking on her.

“You’ve moved around a lot,” he accused.

Molly didn’t want to get into her entire life history right now. “It just worked out that way. It’s been hard to find a place where I want to settle down.”

“You haven’t been in Sioux Falls very long.”

“I moved to be closer to friends.” Molly wondered how long this interview was going to continue. If it went on for much longer, she was going to be late for work, but didn’t dare mention that for fear that the detective would take it as confirmation of her guilt.

Detective Russo certainly didn’t appear convinced by any of her answers. “Let’s go over this one more time.”

Molly rubbed her eyes. “I told you, my boyfriend and I found the girl in the same condition we brought her to the hospital in.”

“Why didn’t you stick around?” Detective Russo asked.

Molly sighed. “You already asked that question.”

“So I’m asking again. Humor me.”

“Because Sam had to leave for a trip, and I needed to get changed for work.”

“You didn’t think we would need to talk to you?”

“We told the doctors everything we knew,” Molly protested. “What kind of questions were we supposed to answer?”

“How about where you found Miss Bardot?”

“I told you, we were on a walk, and she was lying in the bushes, bleeding and unconscious.” It wasn’t precisely a lie; she and Sam hadn’t been around when she got injured.

“But you can’t remember where you found her.”

Molly heard the patent disbelief in the detective’s voice, and she wondered how she was going to get out of this unscathed. She was proud of her spotless record, especially given where she’d been and what had been done to her. The last thing she wanted was to be arrested for something she hadn’t done.

“We were too worried about getting her to the hospital to mark the spot.”

“And how did you get her to the hospital?” Detective Russo asked for the first time. He’d asked why she hadn’t called 911, but not how they had transported the other girl.

“We called Bobby. Bobby Singer,” Molly amended, realizing that the detective probably didn’t know who “Bobby” was.”

“You know Bobby?”

Apparently, Molly had been wrong about that; the detective seemed to immediately recognize Bobby’s name. “Yeah, he’s a friend of mine.”

The detective leaned back in his chair; he’d taken over one of the empty rooms in the hospital. “All right. I think that’s all for now.”

Molly wished she’d known an hour ago that Bobby Singer’s name was enough to get the detective off her back. “Thanks.”

“You’ll let me know when Sam Winchester gets back into town?”

Molly gave him what she hoped was not a patently insincere smile. “Of course.”

She would call the detective, of course, but not before giving Sam a heads up; she figured it was his turn to deal with the cops, anyway.

Glancing at her watch, Molly walked just a little faster on her way to the staff room; she was already late for her shift, and she did not want to be put on report. The last thing she needed was to lose another job.

She was just on her way to her duty station when she heard a voice calling from an empty hospital room. “Hello? Hello! Can someone help me?”

Thinking that a patient was in the room and had fallen or otherwise been harmed, Molly entered the room. “Hello? Can I help you?”

There was no response but the slamming of the door behind her, and Molly whirled to see her supervisor. She didn’t need any special talent to recognize that Karen was possessed, since her eyes were black.

“What do you want?” she asked, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“Your head on a platter.” Karen’s normally pleasant voice was cold and harsh, her mouth set in a sneer. “You never should have gotten involved.”

“I’m a stubborn bitch.” Molly shrugged, suppressing her fear as best she could even though she had no idea how to get herself out of this mess. The only people she might have been able to count on were hundreds of miles away, and she didn’t have special demon-killing weapons or powers.

Molly tried to dodge the demon and get out the door, but found herself on the receiving end of a full-body tackle.

She went down hard, and her jaw grazed the bedrail on the hospital bed. Molly bit her lip as she fell and tasted blood. The blow dazed her long enough to allow the thing riding Karen to grab her around the throat, choking her.

The room began to gray out around the edges, and Molly scrabbled at the hands on her neck to no effect; she hadn’t forgotten how strong demons were, but the sheer power still managed to surprise her.

Molly tried kicking, but Karen’s knees dug into her thighs, cutting off circulation, and Molly felt herself begin to slip into unconsciousness. _Please, God_, she prayed silently. _Please_.

And then the hands were suddenly gone from around her throat, and she gasped, sucking in a deep breath. Looking around wildly, she saw the woman—no, angel—holding Karen by the front of her scrubs with one hand, with the other pressed to Karen’s forehead. Light flashed from Karen’s eyes, too bright for Molly to look at straight on.

When she had recovered from the flash, light spots still dancing in her vision, she found the angel kneeling next to her. Anyone else would have seen a tall, blond woman with clear, pale skin and blue eyes. Molly saw something else altogether.

“Are you well?”

“I just had a demon choking the life out of me,” Molly managed to croak. “So, not so much.”

The angel tilted Molly’s head with a gentle finger on her chin. “My apologies, but I cannot heal you.”

“Great.” Molly looked at Karen, now lying unconscious on the floor. “What about her?”

“She will not remember anything.”

Molly tried to get to her feet, and the angel put a hand under her arm to help her up—okay, not so much help her up as _lift_ her. “So, do you have a name?”

“Sabrael. I have watched over you for a long time now.”

Well, that was news.

“Yeah? Great job on that.” Molly couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from her voice; the words that Brother Andrews had used had opened up old wounds that hadn’t yet scabbed over again.

Sabrael reached out to lift her chin again, a gentle hand cupping her cheek. “Dear child, do you not know how many times we saved your life?”

“Then why—”

“Because to stop the evil that others commit would be to remove free will.”

Molly got that—in her head, she understood that actions had consequences, and to remove a person’s ability to act, or the consequences of their actions would be to remove free will.

“He was possessed.”

“But he was not always.”

“Before I could see—”

“Yes.”

Molly closed her eyes, remembering how bad things were _before_ she could see, knowing that her parents had put her in that situation. “It’s not fair.”

“No.”

Molly opened her eyes and saw both the face of the woman and the angel’s true form. “Do you know anything about Sam?”

Sabrael’s expression turned grim, and Molly realized how fucking scary it was when an _angel_ was scared and worried. “There is a fight. I must go.”

“Go, then. Take care of him.”

A brief touch on her cheek, like her grandmother’s kiss, and Sabrael was gone—leaving Molly to explain a bruised jaw, handprints on her throat, and an unconscious supervisor. And wouldn’t that be fun.

~~~~~

Castiel grasped his sword and kept careful watch over Dean as he painted the augmented Devil’s Trap on the floor. They had at least managed to clear enough space for that, and Michael and the others were keeping the fight clear of Dean’s handiwork.

Bobby had passed the knife over to Sam and had poured a salt circle around them. It wouldn’t keep out the other angels, but it would protect them from the demons.

A shudder ran through him, and Castiel turned, knowing instinctively that another angel had been killed; Michael was just pulling his sword from Zachariah’s neck, and the vessel collapsed onto the floor.

Zachariah’s death caused an outcry to go up from his compatriots, even as Jophiel smote another demon. “Join us!” Michael called. “And you may yet be forgiven!”

There were three angels who had been with Zachariah, and Castiel watched as they appeared to consider Michael’s offer. Two disappeared, and Castiel felt a pang of disappointment; he had lost too many of his brethren already.

The third had already been fighting the onslaught of demons, and he continued doing so; Castiel recognized Baruch as he whirled to avoid a demon’s knife and thrust his sword into the demon’s body.

More angels were showing up; Sabrael had joined them, standing on the other side of the circle, sword out and ready to defend the Winchesters. Castiel glanced over his shoulder and saw that Dean was putting the finishing touches on the trap.

“Sammy!” Dean called, his voice hoarse with tension.

“Got it!” Sam handed the knife back to Bobby and grabbed the lockbox holding the relics. They had already unlocked it, and now Sam took each religious artifact out and carefully handed them to Dean, who placed them at the appropriate places on the outline of the circle.

The trap was ready, but Lucifer was nowhere to be seen, and now Castiel wondered if he would show up, if he hadn’t been scared off by the battle and the presence of Michael.

“Cas?” The question in Dean’s voice was clear, and Castiel had no answer.

“I don’t know where he is.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Castiel felt the lull in the battle, the pause before everything went to hell. A dozen more demons came pouring into the room, and from his vantage point, Castiel could see that the other angels were being herded away from the door and the trap.

Although he longed to throw himself into the fray, his place was next to Dean, because if this didn’t work—if even one of the demons managed to get through their defenses—

And then Lucifer walked through the door.

Castiel remembered when Lucifer had been the brightest and the best among the host of heaven, and he still retained some of that glory. Lucifer swaggered into the room, as though there was no battle, walking towards Dean with purpose.

“Hello, Dean,” Lucifer said, once he’d reached them. “You know, it was really nice of you to bring those artifacts with you. I’ve been looking for them.”

Dean backed up, standing in the middle of the circle. “Come and get them, then.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Castiel readied himself to spring to Dean’s rescue, but Lucifer held up a hand. “I think not, Castiel. This conversation is between myself and Dean.”

Castiel found himself unable to move; there would be no help from the other angels. They were too intent on preventing the demons from overrunning the place. Sabrael had joined the battle by now because the others had needed her too badly. Both Bobby and Sam were out of their depth and seemed to have no idea of what to do.

Lucifer smiled. His teeth were perfect, white against tanned skin, blue eyes brighter than Castiel’s own, dark blond hair expertly mussed. His vessel was beautiful, and Lucifer’s charisma shone through clearly. Castiel wondered what, exactly, Lucifer would offer Dean.

“So, what do you want?” Dean asked impatiently.

“Why don’t you step outside the circle?” Lucifer suggested. “I don’t want to shout.”

“I’m fine here, thanks.” Dean’s voice was cold and steady, with that touch of insolence that Castiel had always found so aggravating.

Lucifer smiled thinly. “You know, you’ve been duped, Dean. God doesn’t have your back; he doesn’t care about you at all. You’re a tool to him.”

Dean shrugged. “What else is new? Sing me another tune, Lucy.”

The Devil’s eyes narrowed. “What is it you want, Dean? For Sam to be safe and happy, to live out your life in peace? I can give you that.”

“After you end the world.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, I’m fairly certain that it isn’t me you’d like to fuck.” Lucifer’s gaze flicked to Castiel, and he grinned. “And it seems my brother here feels the same way. You know what will happen to him, don’t you? He’ll fall, and it will be your fault. In the world I would create, you’d be free to fuck each other into oblivion. Isn’t that what you want?”

Castiel was chilled to the bone, seeing the horror flicker across Dean’s face. Dean didn’t want him to fall, and he’d thought that by keeping their relationship a secret from the rest of the host, Castiel would be able to avoid it.

It was a foolish hope, Castiel knew, but he loved Dean for trying.

“What I want is for you to get the hell off the planet. You can take all your offers and shove ‘em where the sun shines, asshole.”

If Castiel hadn’t been watching the Winchesters for more than a year now, he would have missed how Sam and Dean’s eyes met, the unspoken message that passed between them. Therefore, he wasn’t surprised when Sam flung himself at Lucifer, the demon-killing knife in his hand.

The momentary distraction was all Castiel needed to break free of Lucifer’s hold. Out of the corner of his eye, as though in slow motion, he watched as Lucifer flung Sam across the room, where he hit the wall with a harsh thud. Bobby moved forward, hand outstretched, and then he went flying, too.

Dean was outside of the circle, moving towards Lucifer, his fury clear at the damage that had been done to Sam and the secret Lucifer had spilled. Castiel saw the sword Lucifer pulled out, and he rushed toward Lucifer to prevent Dean from being run through.

Lucifer’s distraction gave Castiel the opportunity he’d wanted, and he hit Lucifer hard, knocking the Lucifer off-balance and allowing the momentum to carry both of them inside the trap.

Castiel could feel the bonds snap closed, and he felt a moment’s elation as he realized that this was going to work.

“Cas!”

Dean was calling to him, even as Lucifer struggled against the metaphysical walls that held both of them in place. The Devil’s Trap had, ironically enough, been built to hold an angel—and that meant it would hold Castiel, too.

“Perform the ritual, Dean!” Castiel cried. “We have little time.”

“No! I’m not leaving you there.”

“Dean, do it!” Castiel willed Dean to understand, to see the unspoken apology and forgiveness in his eyes, to know that there was no other way.

Michael’s deep voice echoed through the church. “It is the only way! Would you doom the entire world?”

Castiel saw Dean glance reflexively at Sam, and he knew that it wasn’t the world that mattered.

“Your boyfriend is going to spend an eternity with me!” Lucifer cried out. “Do you want that, Dean?”

Castiel met Dean’s eyes once again and nodded, giving permission. “Now, Dean.”

Dean’s face hardened into a mask of determination and anguish, and as Dean finished the ritual, Castiel felt the pain rip through him.


	15. Chapter 15

Sam picked himself up off the floor slowly, blinking the spots out of his eyes. The flash of light had momentarily blinded him, even though he’d closed his eyes. Looking around blearily, Sam saw that the battle still raged on; bodies littered the floor. The remaining demons were fighting with grim determination, as though to get revenge for Lucifer.

For a moment, Dean stood, staring at the symbols painted on the floor and the charred remains of the relics, and then he whirled. Sam watched, open-mouthed, as Dean scooped up Zachariah’s sword, still lying next to his lifeless vessel.

Dean threw himself into the battle, running one of the demons through with the sword from behind, ignoring the one flanking him on his left. Sam cried out a warning, but Dean didn’t appear to hear Sam as he whirled and ran that one through.

Dean seemed to see only the target he’d chosen until he killed it and moved onto the next, and his single-minded intensity freaked Sam out. Dean fought with Zachariah’s sword as though he’d been born to do so—and maybe he had.

Sam swallowed hard; Dean had always been meant to fight on the side of angels, whereas he was the boy with the demon blood.

He scrambled to retrieve the knife he’d dropped when Lucifer had sent him flying, then ran to Dean’s side. His brother didn’t even glance at him; Dean was too intent on killing demons, right up until the last one had fallen, or left its meatsuit in a cloud of black smoke.

Silence seemed to fill up the room, and Dean turned his head to look at Sam. “You okay?” When Sam nodded in response, Dean turned on Michael. “You can get him back, right?”

“We have no orders regarding Castiel.” Sam could hear regret in Michael’s voice, and his heart sank.

Dean took a menacing step forward, and Sam had to hand it to him; Dean had balls, trying to intimidate an archangel. “So? Go get him. You got me out, didn’t you?”

“We were ordered to raise you out of hell, Dean,” Michael replied. “This is different.”

“How is it different?” Dean demanded.

Michael’s dark face creased as he frowned. “I think you know how.”

Dean looked away guiltily. “Fine. But can he get out? You can’t tell me that Cas is stuck in hell.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Michael looked beyond Dean to the symbols painted on the floor. “Castiel was always very good with his traps and sigils. This one was built to trap an angel and send him back to hell.”

Sam cleared his throat, hesitating to barge into the conversation, but wanting to point out a key difference. “Isn’t Lucifer a _fallen_ angel?”

“But still an angel, Sam,” Michael replied. “This circumstance has never come up before; I do not know what will happen.”

Dean had never been content with uncertainties, and this was no different. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Michael frowned his disapproval. “It means that an angel who has not fallen cannot normally be held in hell against his will. I do not know what this means.”

“But you could go after him?” The hope in Dean’s voice was terrible to hear, especially considering the fact that angels didn’t seem to do anything unless they had orders.

Unless it was Castiel. He had been different.

“We cannot go without orders.” Michael bowed his head. “Forgive us, Dean.”

And they were gone.

Dean stared at the ground, his empty hand flexing. He still held Zachariah’s sword, and Sam wondered if it was a consolation prize. Judging from Dean’s bowed head and tense shoulders, giving every sign of real grief, it wasn’t going to be good enough.

Sam’s head went up as he heard the sound of sirens, and he grabbed Dean’s arm. “We have to go, Dean.”

Dean didn’t move.

“Dean—” In that moment, Sam knew that everything Lucifer had said was true, but that it was more than just sex, more than just fucking. Dean was blinking rapidly, his eyes moist, and he didn’t cry over just anybody.

“Bobby?” Dean called

“Yeah, son?” Bobby’s voice sounded strangely gentle, and Sam knew that Bobby had believed Lucifer’s final words, too.

“You got room for Sam?”

Bobby glanced at Sam, then said, “Sure. You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I just—” His head went up as the sirens drew nearer. “We need to get out of here.”

“Dean—what Lucifer said about Castiel staying in hell…” Sam began, trying to find the right words.

Dean stalked towards the door, calling out over his shoulder, “Demons lie, Sam. You of all people should know that.”

Sam heard the sound of the Impala’s engine, and Bobby tugged on his arm. “We have to go, Sam.”

“I know.” Sam followed Bobby as they both jogged out of the abandoned church. “I should call Molly,” he said as soon as they were in the car and on their way.

Sam was fairly sure that Bobby rolled his eyes in response, but all he said was, “Then you’d better call her.”

Molly picked up right away. “Sam! How are you?”

Sam swallowed. “In one piece. Some scrapes and bruises, but that’s it.”

“And the others?” Molly pressed. “How are they?”

“Dean and Bobby are fine, but—we lost Cas.”

There was a long pause. “Cas?” Molly’s voice was faint. “But how?”

Sam explained the circumstances as briefly as possible.

“How is Dean?” Molly asked immediately.

“I don’t know. He told me to catch a ride with Bobby.”

She sighed. “Okay. Are you heading back now?”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” Sam promised. “How is everything there?”

Molly paused. “Fine. There’s been some stuff, but I’ll talk to you about it when you get here.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, really. Drive safely.”

She ended the call immediately, and Sam pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it as though it would tell him more.

“Everything okay?” Bobby asked after a moment.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know.”

And even though he should feel elated that the apocalypse was over, that they’d managed to trap Lucifer back in hell, Sam couldn’t summon up any happiness.

~~~~~

Molly stood on the front porch of Bobby’s place, watching as Bobby’s old car came up the drive. She’d used her free time over the last couple of days to find a place of her own, having made the decision to stay in Sioux Falls for the time being.

She was certain it was the right decision, but she wasn’t sure how Sam was going to react to her proposal.

Bobby climbed out easily, while Sam unfolded long limbs from the passenger side. Molly could tell that Sam was torn between helping Bobby unload and greeting her. She could just make out Bobby saying, “Go on, you big idjit.”

Sam crossed the distance between the car and the porch in three long strides. Molly knew exactly when he realized she’d been injured. “What the hell happened?”

She sighed. “I was attacked at the hospital. I’m fine, Sam.”

“You don’t look fine.” Sam tilted her chin up with one long finger, taking in the well-defined bruises in the shape of fingers on her throat, and her swollen jaw. “You’re going to fill me in, right?”

“Of course.” Molly pulled his head down for a kiss. “I’ll help you guys unload the car.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll meet you inside and you can tell me what happened.” Sam gave her another kiss, then nudged her toward the house.

Molly had to admit that a drink would make her story easier to tell, and would probably make Sam’s tale easier to take. As soon as he’d given her the news about Castiel, Molly had stocked up on alcohol, if only for Dean’s sake.

True to her word, Molly had made enchiladas, and she told her story while they were eating. “Hell if I know why I got special treatment,” she finished up. “I was going to act like nothing happened, but…” She waved to her throat. “That wasn’t possible. I got a couple of sick days, and the police are looking for someone who doesn’t exist.”

“You didn’t tell them who attacked you?” Bobby asked.

Molly shook her head. “It wasn’t Karen’s fault, but I couldn’t tell the cops she was possessed. It was easier to give a vague description. Even if they pick someone up, I won’t be able to identify them.”

The front door opened, then slammed shut. Dean walked into the kitchen seconds later, his expression impassive. He glanced at Sam and Bobby, then stared at Molly. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I was attacked by a demon and rescued by an angel. You hungry?”

Molly wasn’t surprised when Dean didn’t inquire further, instead following his nose to the dish of enchiladas. “Yeah, I’m hungry.”

“Help yourself.”

“Good drive back?” Bobby asked.

Dean shrugged. “Didn’t run into any trouble.”

Sam opened his mouth, and Molly gave a quick shake of her head. She’d grown up having to read the moods of those around her, and she sensed that Dean was in no mood for a conversation.

Although it was clear Sam wanted to argue, he apparently decided that it wasn’t worth it.

Dean inhaled two servings before announcing, “I’m going to get some sleep.”

Molly turned to Sam. “Now that he’s gone, do you want to tell me what happened?”

~~~~~

Dean knew that it wouldn’t be long before Sam cornered him to talk about what had happened to Castiel. Sam didn’t give up, not easily, and Dean had to admit that Sam had a right to be worried.

Truth was, though, unless the angels got Cas out of hell, he was stuck there—unless he was still angel enough to get himself out. And Dean didn’t have the energy to hold onto that hope.

“Hey.”

Dean looked up from his inspection of the Impala’s tires because he thought they might be getting a little bald, relieved to see Bobby. “Hey. What’s up?”

“You got time for a job?”

Dean had time for anything that might get his mind off of watching Castiel sacrifice himself to get Lucifer into the trap. “Yeah, sure.”

“Friend of mine brought one of his junkers around. I told Molly you might be able to fix it up for her.”

It wasn’t quite the job Dean wanted, but he’d take what he could get, and they owed her. “He gonna tow it here?”

“Already here.”

“Let’s see it.”

The body of the old Wagoneer was dented and had more than a few rust spots, but it was still in better shape than Molly’s Subaru. “Has she seen this yet?”

“She said as long as it ran, she didn’t care what it looked like, but I told her you’d make it pretty.” Bobby smiled. “I like that girl.”

“You just like her cooking,” Dean accused with a smile.

Bobby shrugged. “And you don’t?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The Jeep needed some work under the hood, and as Dean inspected the engine he kept a mental list of the parts he’d need. He had grease streaking his arms—and probably his face—by the time Sam finally attempted to have that talk Dean was dreading.

“I think we might have a chance to get Castiel out,” Sam announced without preamble, standing behind Dean. Dean kept his eyes on the car. “I know—”

“You don’t know shit,” Dean cut him off shortly. “Not even the angels had any idea what that spell was going to do.”

“But we could—”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Dean asked, finally turning to face Sam. “No.”

Sam frowned. “I thought you would want to get him out.”

“I do!” Dean took a deep breath. “But I’m not losing someone else in the process, and I can’t—” He wanted to tell Sam that he couldn’t live on false hope. “Just…drop it, okay?”

“But—”

Dean turned back to the Jeep. “No. Go away, Sam.”

“I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

Dean didn’t respond to that, even though he knew he should probably absolve Sam; it was as much Dean’s fault as anyone else’s.

He kept working, even as the sun started making its descent, and the shadows lengthened. It was going to be too dark to see soon, and then he’d have to go inside and face the others—or Sam. Bobby would leave him alone, and he thought Molly might be smart enough to do so as well.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Speak of the devil.” He cringed as the words came out of his mouth and made a mental note never to use that phrase again.

“Have you been talking to the car?” Molly asked.

Dean shrugged. “Never mind.”

“It’s getting dark.”

“Did Sam send you?” Dean asked, not responding directly to her observation, wanting to get this out of the way immediately.

Molly leaned up against the car next to him. “Yeah. He wanted me to check on you since he thought you might punch him if he tried.”

“He’s probably right,” Dean admitted, slamming the hood shut on the vehicle. “So, now you’ve checked on me. You can tell him I’m fine.”

“We found something in our research. You want to hear it?” Molly put a bottle of single barrel Jack down on the hood, as well as two glasses before she swung herself up.

“Not really.” Dean eyed the bottle of Jack, wondering if a drink was worth sticking around and dodging another conversation about Castiel.

She poured two generous glasses. “Okay.”

Dean sat next to her, taking one of the glasses. “Okay?”

“Sometimes you don’t want to talk about it.” She smiled at him, her dimples making a brief appearance. “Your brother can be a real girl about that sort of thing, can’t he?”

Dean huffed out a soft laugh. “Yeah, he can.” He tossed back the whiskey and allowed Molly to refill his glass. “I didn’t think that Bobby had any of this around.”

“He didn’t,” Molly replied. “Figured I’d have it on hand for when you guys got back, either way it turned out.”

“Yeah.” Dean stared into his glass, the amber turning darker in the fading light. He remembered the expression on Castiel’s face when Dean had pressed a shot of whiskey on him.

Molly cleared her throat. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“There’s a house in town for rent. It’s a duplex, and both sides are empty. Sam said he thought you guys might stick around for a while.”

Dean hadn’t thought about the possibility, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it now. Not only had he not given much thought to what he’d be doing after the apocalypse—wanting to avoid any false hope—but he hadn’t imagined that Castiel wouldn’t be around.

“You and Sam moving in together?” Dean asked, keeping his voice neutral.

She shrugged. “Or you guys take the other side. Whichever. Sam said he’d do whatever you wanted.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Think about it.” Molly jumped down, leaving the bottle but taking her glass with her. “Oh, and Sam did some research. An angel who hasn’t fallen can’t be held in hell for long.”

Although Dean admired Molly’s timing in delivering that piece of news, he couldn’t help but remember that Castiel had seemed certain that falling was inevitable. Would an angel out of heaven’s graces be able to find his way out of hell?

Dusk deepened into darkness, but Dean stayed where he was, drinking steadily and lost in thought.

He was more than a little drunk when a deep, easily-recognizable voice broke into his reverie.

“Dean.”

Dean looked up to see Michael standing in front of him, and he felt a flash of white-hot anger. “You—” He stopped, unable to finish, when Michael stepped aside to reveal a familiar figure in a trench coat. “Cas?”

“Hello, Dean.”

He blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing. “What—”

“I told you that we had received no orders regarding Castiel,” Michael explained patiently. “But we received orders to retrieve him shortly thereafter.” He turned to look at Castiel. “Goodbye, brother.”

Dean rushed forward. “Are you—are you human now? Did—”

“I think I’d like to sit down,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean looked around wildly and realized that the only place nearby would be inside the Jeep, and he quickly opened one of the back doors. “Here. Sit.”

Castiel settled into the backseat with a sigh. “No, I have not fallen, Dean, merely received new orders.”

Dean swallowed, wondering if he was going to lose Cas just when he’d gotten him back. “What sort of new orders?” he asked, keeping his tone nonchalant.

“Well, it seems that I’m supposed to perch on your shoulder.”

Castiel delivered the line with a completely blank expression as Dean tried to process that. “Wait, you’re—you’re my guardian angel now?”

With a shrug, Castiel replied, “I had my pick of assignments because I remained faithful, even with the threat of falling.”

Relief flooded Dean as he realized that Castiel would be sticking around, but it almost immediately turned into anger. “Don’t you _dare_ do something like that again,” he snarled. “Sacrificing yourself—”

“Is exactly what you would have done in my place.” Castiel met his glare without batting an eyelash.

Dean frowned. “Okay, yeah, but still. Just—stick around, okay?” Dean wished he could tell Castiel that he’d missed him, that what Dean felt bordered dangerously on love, how the pain of losing Cas had been only slightly less than the pain of losing Sam.

Dean didn’t say any of that, however. What he did was lean in towards Cas, whose lips met his at the halfway point. He reached up, threading his fingers through Castiel’s hair, his other hand gripping the back of Cas’ neck. Castiel’s hands kneaded his shoulders and ranged down his upper arms.

A little voice in the back of Dean’s head told him that he should probably let the others know that Castiel was back; they had been upset that he had been trapped in hell, too. But Dean couldn’t tear himself away from Castiel, and he figured the others could wait.

The sound of a throat clearing behind him told Dean that the others apparently _couldn’t_ wait.

“Uh, Dean?”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, then turned to face Sam. “Yeah?” He made sure that his voice carried just the right amount of annoyance.

Sam looked incredibly uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot. “I just wanted to check on you, to make sure you were okay, but you are. So…”

“We’ll be inside in a minute, Sam.” Dean turned back to Castiel. “Just…give us a minute.”

“Sure! No problem.”

Dean grinned, and went back to kissing Castiel.

~~~~~

Castiel was pleasantly surprised by the reactions he got from the others when he stepped inside. Sam clapped him on the shoulder, Bobby smiled—which was more than Castiel was expecting—and Molly hugged him long and hard.

In all honesty, Castiel hadn’t been expecting much of a reaction at all.

“So, I hear you two kissed and made up,” Molly whispered into his ear as the others were celebrating the end of the apocalypse.

From what Castiel understood, no one had done much celebrating until he got back; losing one of their own had apparently taken the joy right out of winning.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, unable to find anything else to say. “Why?”

Molly pressed something into his palm. “Because you’ll need this. My suggestion is to find a hotel, and _don’t_ let Dean drive. He’s too intoxicated.”

Castiel frowned. “What do we do at a hotel?”

Molly gave him a look that said Castiel was being stupid. “Start kissing, see what happens.”

“What about you?”

Molly glanced at Sam, her expression cautious. Castiel already knew exactly what she was frightened of, that she had not yet consummated her relationship with Sam. “One of these days we’ll get there.”

“And us?”

“Go for it.” Molly touched his upper arm. “Seriously, Castiel. If you get the chance, you should seize the day. Show Dean a good time. He’s been miserable without you.”

“And you and Sam?” Castiel pressed.

“We’ll deal, and we’ll do okay.” Molly squeezed his bicep. “Go, Cas. Enjoy. You’ve got free rein, right?”

“Yes.” Castiel leaned forward and kissed her forehead in benediction. “Thank you.”

Molly snorted. “You kidding me? I’m doing this for me. This way, we don’t have to worry about you two waking us up.”

Castiel understood that she was joking, but he let it go, grabbing Dean’s arm as he talked animatedly with Sam and Bobby. “Let’s go.”

Dean didn’t argue. “Yeah, sure.” He glanced at Sam. “You gonna be okay?”

Sam nodded. “Go on, man.”

Castiel pulled Dean outside, then transported the both of them to the nearest hotel.

“What the hell?” Dean demanded.

“Molly gave us money,” Castiel explained. “She said she didn’t want to be woken in the middle of the night.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Castiel decided that it wasn’t worth it to argue. “That’s what she said.”

Dean laughed, long and loud, but refused to explain the joke. “Ask me again later. Let’s check in.”

Hours later, Dean laid next to Castiel on their king-size bed, Castiel’s head resting on his shoulder. Dean was absently running his hand through Castiel’s hair, and Castiel felt too good to move.

“How long were you down there?”

Castiel let out a breath, stroking absent-minded symbols on Dean’s bare chest. “Long enough.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that.”

Castiel ran a hand down Dean’s side to his hip and back again. “I’m sorry.”

Dean sighed. “You did the right thing.”

Castiel pulled Dean closer. “Now what?”

He sensed Dean’s smile, rather than saw it; he was too tired to raise his head. “The usual, Cas. We save people and hunt things. It’s as simple as that.”

Castiel smiled against Dean’s chest and knew that for Dean it was. It was just that simple, and whatever happened, he would be there for as long as Dean wanted him.


End file.
